


Ghost Town

by VagrantWriter



Series: Ghosts [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Cameos, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Government Conspiracy, M/M, Medical Procedures, Multi, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Possession, Psychic Abilities, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 36
Words: 52,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5139845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon is a disgraced cop. Theon is an escaped convict who claims he can talk to the dead. When these two meet up, they'll uncover a vast conspiracy filled with corrupt government officials, shady businessmen, and a cover-up involving the murder of Jon's cousin, Robb Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Now: An Encounter with a Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my new project. It's another insane AU, as I'm sure you've come to expect from me. Let's see what tropes we'll be hitting this time:
> 
> -Modern Westeros AU (check)  
> -Prison AU (check)  
> -Police AU (check)  
> -Superpowers AU (check)  
> -Paranormal AU (check)
> 
> If any of that sounds like your thing, read on.

The man was running, looking over his shoulder, and dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit. All of these factors added up to one conclusion: He was an escapee from the penitentiary up on the hill.

Jon had been under the impression that it was a high-security facility. Maybe they were short-staffed if this scrawny-looking guy could bust out. Maybe they were looking to hire more guards.

See, these were the sorts of thoughts that went through your head when you’d been unemployed for over six months. _Can I get a job out of it_? Not, _Is this escaped convict going to murder me as I walk my dog_?

The guy didn’t _look_ like a serial killer—if serial killers _had_ a look, that is. He was thin and clumsy as he ran, and at first Jon had thought he was an old man until he realized the hair was only dyed platinum blond. The guy was much too young and much too able-bodied to have naturally white hair. His eyes were wide in his head when they locked onto Jon’s, pleading for help.

Jon didn’t know exactly how to react when the man brushed past him into one of the narrow alleyways and threw himself behind a dumpster there. It was a good thing he hadn’t been armed, or Jon could have had a bloody knife sticking out of his chest right now. Where had all those years of police training gone?

At his side, Ghost cocked his head but remained silent. Which was odd. Ghost either loved people or hated them; it was rare that he would have no opinion.

Just as Jon was about to reach for his cellphone and call the cops— _Gee, I wonder why I’m hesitating_ —two uniformed police officers came running down the street. One of them, a large female cop, had her gun drawn. When they caught sight of Jon standing there in the middle of the street with his dog, her partner, a tall but not-quite-as-tall male cop, put his hand on her shoulder. “Careful, Tarth. You don’t want to do the paperwork for shooting a civilian. Trust me.”

She lowered her weapon but kept looking around. “Have you seen—?”

“A man in a prisoner’s uniform,” Jon finished. “He went that way.” He pointed at the crossroad down the street.

The man nodded in appreciation, and together the two officers took off. Jon watched them go until they had turned the corner, then he let out a deep breath. It had been a split-second decision, and now that it was over, he wondered if he should call them back. No, then they’d ask why he’d lied to them in the first place and then he might get charged with obstructing justice and then it would come to light that he had been “let go” from the precinct six months ago.

Instead, he tugged on Ghost’s leash and rounded the dumpster. The escapee was huddled up against the wall, casting wide, confused eyes up at Jon. Ghost gave him a cursory sniff, but other than that, there was no reaction from the dog. No growling, no excited yipping at having met a new friend.

“Why’d you do that?” the escapee asked.

Jon shrugged. “Read _Great Expectations_ too many times?”

The reference completely missed, based on the man’s glassy-eyed stare.

“You know…Pip? He gets rewarded when he finds out his benefactor is the escaped convict he helped at the beginning of the book?”

Still nothing.

“I don’t know,” Jon said, switching tactics. “I guess I’m just a compulsive liar.”

“Thank you,” the man murmured, his voice muffled as he leaned his head against his arm. “I can’t go back there. I can’t.”

“Bolton Penitentiary?”

The man’s eyes widened.

“So…just curious. What sort of criminal did I allow to escape? They only deal with violent criminals up there, I’m led to believe. So you must have killed someone or tried to kill someone or—”

He clamped his hands over his ears. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“Hey, man, I didn’t have to help you. In fact, I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t have.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket for his phone. “I’ll give you ten minutes, then I’m calling the cops on you, alright?”

“Shut up, shut up! I can’t hear myself think!”

He began thrashing about, as if in the grip of a seizure. Actually, it looked like he _was_ having a seizure!

Jon dropped his phone and dropped to his knees, trying to remember the first aid lessons he’d taken through the precinct. Coke addicts could go into convulsion like this in their cells, and the important thing was to keep them steady so they couldn’t hurt themselves during their fits. He pulled the convict’s head into his lap and held him firmly as he shook and shook. The white hair was brittle between his fingers, and this close, he could see that the man was obviously malnourished, his cheeks and eye sockets hollow and caved in. There were also what appeared to be rope burns around his wrists, along with bruises and cuts on his arms. Someone had roughed the guy up, and Jon could only hope it had been fellow prisoners. Because if the guards were responsible…

Jon shook his head to banish these thoughts. _No, don’t go playing the whistleblower again, Jon. Look how it turned out for you last time._

After a minute or two, the escapee’s body began to relax. His convulsions ceased, and clarity came back to his eyes. They were an odd blue/green/grey color, and somehow, as they found Jon’s face, they looked familiar. His mouth parted. “Jon…”

Jon started.

Ghost gave an excited yip and began licking the man’s face, tail going a mile a minute.

“Ghost.” A small smile spread across his face as he reached out with shaking hands to rough the dog’s ears. Then, growing serious again, he craned his neck and addressed Jon in a way that sent chills racing up his spine. “Help him,” he rasped. “You have to help him. Help _them_. He knows…Roose Bolton…he can…” He sank heavily into Jon’s lap with a sigh.

“What?” Jon gave him a shake. “What did you say? How do you know my name? Hey, you!”

Ghost abruptly stopped wagging his tail and sat back on his haunches.

The man seemed to come back to himself. He jolted upright and looked around the alleyway in panic. “What just happened?”

“You had a seizure.” Jon began to reach for his phone, lying on the ground where he’d dropped it in his haste. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No, you can’t.” The man lunged for the phone, but he was too slow. Jon already had it and was dialing the first number. “Please, please, don’t send me back there. I can’t! I know I did wrong but…” He got up on his knees, hands clasped together like Jon was some patron saint of the utterly pathetic. “If I still need to make amends, you can kill me. But don’t send me back there. I’m begging you! Please, please.” He dropped his head and continued his prayer. “Please.”

Jon sighed. Alisser Thorne had always said he was soft. He cancelled his call.

“Fine.” He crouched down and tried to get the man to look at him. “Did somebody hurt you there? Is that why you don’t want to go back?”

He nodded at the ground.

“Was it another prisoner?”

He shook his head.

“Was it one of the guards?”

“A…little, yes.”

Jon pinched his brows together. “Who else?” He put a finger under the man’s bony chin and gently lifted his head. “Who’s been hurting you?”

The man swallowed. “The…staff.”

“The staff?”

“The people in the white coats. They…did something to me. To all of us.” He wrenched his head away. “No, I shouldn’t tell you. It’s…I don’t want to go back in the chair.”

“The chair?”

He was crying now, sniffling. “I’m only a lower espionage class. They won’t miss me. They’ll look for me, but…I’m not worth…they might give up after a while. I’m weak. He’s always saying how weak I am. How useless. And I can’t…”

Jon sighed. He couldn’t call the cops and he couldn’t call the paramedics. That left a dangerous alternative. He stood and gathered Ghost’s leash in his left hand, and his right he held out to the cowering man. “You can come with me.”

The man looked at Jon’s hand with reddened eyes.

“Those cops will probably be back when they realize you didn’t go the way I told them. I want to hear your story before I decide what to do with you.” He paused to consider. “I won’t hurt you, if you promise not to hurt me.”

“No, no, I would never…I’m not…”

“I think you need help,” Jon interrupted. “And since you’re not going to allow me to call help for you, I’m hoping you’ll at least let _me_ help you.” He stretched out his hand farther, the way he had when Ghost had been a puppy and needed to be coaxed out from under the bed. “I’m not a big fan of the cops at the moment either, so if I can avoid dealing with them, I will.”

The man gingerly took Jon’s offered hand without saying a word. That was fine. The gesture was enough.

Jon hoisted him to his feet. “We’ll go back to my apartment, get you patched up a bit, and then you can tell me what’s going on here. Sound like a plan?”

The man nodded.

“Do you have a name?”

The man sniffled. “My codename is Ghost.”


	2. Now: Aiding and Abetting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently putting the finishing touches on the end, but in the meantime I'm going to start posting. Warnings will be posted as they apply, so make note of them.

So that was how Jon ended up inviting a complete, and possibly deranged, stranger into the crappy little apartment he held onto with the remains of his swiftly draining bank account. It was small and cozy, one bed, one bath, a reasonably-sized kitchen. The couch pulled out into a second bed, which hadn’t been used since Arya had spent the night after Robb’s funeral. He hoped the spare blankets didn’t smell too musty from being in the back of the linen closet for so long. Then he took one look at the bedraggled, escaped convict standing in his entrance hallway and decided the man probably wouldn’t be bothered too much.

Jon unclipped Ghost’s collar and hung it on the coatrack. Then he turned and studied exactly what he’d brought home with him.

He didn’t know where to start.

“You want a shower?” he offered.

The man had been looking around the apartment, but at Jon’s question, they quickly snapped back to him. “Yes?” He didn’t sound too certain.

“Bathroom’s this way. The water takes a little while to get warm and the pressure’s not great…” He trailed off. “If you leave your clothes on the floor, I’ll get you something else to wear. Something not so…” _Escaped convict-y._

The man nodded and followed like a zombie as Jon showed him to the bathroom.

“Just…take as long as you need, alright?”

The man nodded again and closed the door. A moment later, the hinges creaked and a bundled pile of orange landed on the floor. The door closed again, followed soon after by the squealing of the pipes as the water was started.

Jon bent to retrieve the jumpsuit. What should he do with it? It was evidence that he’d aided and abetted a criminal’s escape. If he threw it away, there was always the small chance that someone might find it and trace it back to him. He ended up tossing it into the hamper with his dirty clothes and collapsing onto the couch to wait for the strange man to finish his shower.

This was stupid. This was incredibly stupid. Not to mention risky. The man might be a murderer or a rapist or a pedophile. He might find something sharp in the bathroom and try to stab Jon once he came out. A million things like that could happen, but if Jon did end up the victim of a serial killer, it wasn’t like there would be many left to mourn him.

Ghost, of course, and Arya. Sam would be sad, but he was so involved with his girlfriend these days that he’d learn to move on. No one at the precinct would care, least of all Alisser Thorne. Jon had never known his parents, and the only father he’d ever known was dead, killed in a car accident years ago. Robb, his cousin but in truth more like a brother, was also gone, victim of a senseless mugging. And Ygritte… The precinct had ruled it an accidental manslaughter, but Jon suspected—no! knew—the truth of it. There was no way to prove it, though, and trying had just gotten him booted from the service for his efforts.

_So, go ahead, weird guy. Kill me and wear my skin, whatever. Just make sure you take care of Ghost afterwards._

The water shut off abruptly. Jon readied himself for whatever. Even if the man didn’t try to kill him, he might still freak out. He was obviously disturbed.

The man staggered into the living area, dressed in the black jeans and t-shirt Jon had left outside the bathroom door for him. Jon had never considered himself a big guy, but his clothes practically dwarfed their new wearer and made him look even paler. His hair was wet and matted, and Jon was beginning to wonder if it was a dye job after all.

“Are you hurt?” Jon asked.

He shook his head.

“Do you need any…medical attention?”

He shook his head.

“Nothing? Not a pain-killer or anything?”

“Do you have anything to eat?”

Well, he did look pretty skinny. Was the prison feeding him? What was the taxpayers’ money going to up there if not to the prisoners’ food? Jon stood and began rummaging around in the cabinets for something quick and easy. There was a bag of stale pretzels that would do, and perhaps a glass of water.

The man took them with a grateful bob of his head then sat down at the two-person dining table and began munching away. He ate like a ravenous hamster, stuffing as many pretzels into his cheeks as he could. For a moment, Jon was worried he would choke. Oh well, the first aid lessons had covered the Heimlich maneuver as well.

“What did you say your name was?” Jon asked.

“Ghost.”

Ghost’s head popped up from his dog bed, ears twitching at the sound of his name.

“My dog’s name is Ghost. That’s going to get confusing.”

“My codename is Ghost,” the man repeated.

Jon leaned backwards against the countertop. “Codename? You said that before. What does it mean?”

“It’s the designation they gave me.”

“At the penitentiary?”

He nodded.

What sort of prison gave codenames to its prisoners? This was getting weirder and weirder.

“Okay, so Ghost is your codename. What’s your real name?”

The man seemed to be thinking as he chewed. At last he said, “Theon?” Again, like it was a question. But at least it was something to work with.

“Theon, okay,” Jon repeated to himself. “I’m Jon, by the way.”

“I know,” Theon said. “I spoke with him some more in the bathroom. He says you’re a good person.”

Jon blinked in surprise. “Who?” He hadn’t heard voices coming from the bathroom, and in any case, there couldn’t have been someone else in there with him. Could there?

“The one who used my body before,” Theon went on. He reached for the glass of water. “Your cousin.”

“My cousin?”

“Robb Stark.”

He was glad he was leaning against the countertop. He might have been knocked over backwards otherwise. “You knew Robb?”

“No. But he stays close to you. He looks out for you.”

That eerie creeping feeling he’d had in the alleyway returned. He looked over his shoulder. Predictably, no one was there. “What are you talking about? You know Robb’s been dead for almost a year now, right?”

Theon stopped eating and looked up. “That’s why they call me Ghost.”

Jon felt the color draining from his face. Abruptly, he crossed the kitchen and propped himself on the table, leaning in. “Are you telling me…what I think you’re telling me?” That was insane. The man had to be insane. Maybe he’d seen the pictures of Robb on the mantle when he’d first come in? But that didn’t explain how he knew Robb’s name or that he was Jon’s cousin.

“They haven’t stopped talking to me since…since they messed with my head.” A pretzel fell from Theon’s nerveless fingers. He was shaking all over. “They never shut up! And when I’m in the chair…” He began pulling at his hair. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t…and they…they won’t leave me alone.”

“Dead people?”

Theon nodded.

Jon took the other chair. “Are you telling me you’re a psychic?”

“Low-level espionage class.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Shut up! I’m trying to concentrate!” Theon shook his head. “I’m not…I can’t...all of you.” When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. “There’s so much death around you, Jon Snow. A woman with dark hair, a man with light hair. A man with grey eyes. A man with red hair, a woman with red hair.”

Jon swallowed and felt the last bit of skepticism drain away. If this guy was an actor, he was one hell of a convincing one. “Robb?” he ventured, and despite his certainty, he did feel a little silly.

“I don’t want him in here with me!” Theon shrieked. “Please, go away! I’m trying…I’m trying! It hurts. You don’t understand. It hurts!”

He flung himself across the table.

Jon rose, unsure of how he could give aid, but a moment later, Theon was relaxing again.

“Thank you,” he murmured, so quietly that Jon knew he wasn’t talking to him. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, but he had a lopsided grin on his face. “Thank you for understanding. I’ll try. I promise, I’ll try.”

Jon had no idea what was going on.

With what looked like a tremendous effort, Theon sat upright in his chair. “I owe you an explanation, I know. So, let me start from the beginning…”


	3. Then: Bolton Penitentiary by Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading. Now that the tags are back up and working, I'm going to starting tagging everything in earnest. No particular warnings for this chapter except discussion of prison rape.
> 
> Welcome to Bolton Penitentiary, probably founded by this [Batman villain](http://dc.wikia.com/wiki/Lyle_Bolton_%28New_Earth%29).

“How are you holding up?”

Theon chuckled mirthlessly into the mouthpiece. “Me? I’m fine. Couldn’t be better.”

Asha gave him a sympathetic smile, one she’d always given when he’d begged her to tell Maron and Rodrik to leave him alone. She so badly wanted to see him taking care of business, holding his own and flourishing in the Greyjoy way.

Unfortunately, he’d been a bottom feeder at home and he was a bottom feeder here.

He drew in a deep, calming breath through his nose. Asha didn’t want to hear about how he’d nearly been shanked in the cafeteria over a dispute with another inmate. She didn’t want to hear about how he didn’t even know his cellmate’s name because the man hadn’t bothered to tell him, a month into his ten-year prison sentence. And he didn’t want to talk about these things with her.

“How’s, uh…how’s Mom doing?”

“Better.” Asha had always been a good liar. Theon hoped she wasn’t lying now. “She’s up and about. I took her out for lunch the other day.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, she liked it, I think.” Asha twisted the phone’s cord on her finger. “She asks about you all the time.”

“What do you tell her?”

She was quiet for a moment. “I tell her you’re doing fine.”

It was a good thing Asha was a good liar, then.

She gnawed on her lip and drummed her fingers along the table top. “Theon…” Slowly, she leaned in closer to the thick plate of glass that separated them, as if that would give them more privacy. “I want to know, really. How are they treating you here?”

“Are you asking if somebody’s made me their bitch yet?”

She blanched. Asha never blanched.

Theon breathed through his nose and tried to remember Euron’s words of advice. _Don’t let them see any weakness in you. A thin, womanish thing like you in prison_ … His uncle’s mocking laugh had been less than encouraging.

“No,” he answered at last. This, at least, was one truth he could tell her. “There have been a few comments, but the guards here are good about not letting that sort of thing happen.” Which had surprised him, quite honestly. “I’ve made some…friends.”

She grew even paler.

“Not like that!” he hissed into the phone’s mouthpiece. “I mean, like, I’m in with some of the guards. The guy who works the night shift, Ramsay, looks after me.”

Asha’s eyes narrowed in skepticism. “Why would he do that?”

“Well, it’s kind of a funny story, actually. He thought I was somebody else.”

“Somebody else?”

“An old friend of his,” Theon went on. “So one day, I’m out in the courtyard, trying to mind my own business, when this guy—big guy—comes up behind me and just bear hugs me and lifts me off my feet. He’s saying, ‘Reek, Reek, what’re you doing here?’ And me, I’m scared shitless, because this guard is attacking me and I don’t know what to do. But then he sees my face and lets me go and he’s all apologetic. I say, ‘No big,’ and he says that from behind I’m the spitting image of an old mate of his. And after that, he just sort of…hangs around me, I guess?” He finished with a self-deprecatory shrug.

“That’s a bit strange,” Asha agreed. “Are you sure you should be hanging out with the guards? The other inmates might think you’re a snitch or something.”

“Trust me, nobody messes with this Ramsay guy. They’re scared shitless of him. Word is he’s a bit of a hard-ass, been disciplined for unnecessary use of force. Heard he broke a man’s arm with his bare hands in a fight.”

Asha’s mouth grew thin and tight. “What did you say his name was?”

“Ramsay. Ramsay Snow. Why?”

“I’d like to look at his record, see what these disciplinary actions were. If this guy’s not on the level…”

“Since when has a Greyjoy ever cared whether someone was ‘on the level?’” Theon mocked.

She scowled. It was the scowl that had cowed many schoolyard bully, and even Maron and Rodrik a time or too. She looked a lot like their father when she wore that expression, all hard-faced visage and unspoken threat. “Since they’ve taken an interest in my baby brother. I don’t want to see you end up as a tally mark on this guy’s discipline file.”

“He would never hurt me.”

“How long have the two of you been…’friends?’”

Theon scowled back at her. What was she implying? “Two weeks?” he hazarded. “Look, he hasn’t…he doesn’t _want_ anything from me. He just wants to make sure I’m okay because I remind him of his friend. You should be happy I’m making connections in here.”

She continued to scowl. “Fine. But if he tries anything, _anything_ , you tell me. Alright?”

“Yeah?” He’d never been able to pull off the Greyjoy scowl, but he could do the lopsided grin very well, and he knew it drove Asha crazy. She said it made his face very punchable. “Are you really going to visit me every month for the next ten years?”

“If I can,” she answered with hesitation, and that genuinely shocked him. “Maron and Rodrik are dead, Mom’s a basket case, Dad’s on me to take over the family business…and my little brother’s in jail.”

“Prison,” Theon corrected. He’d learned that during his bail period, which had gone unpaid. Balon had not seen the point. “Jail is for people who have received one year of imprisonment or less.”

“Our family is fucked up, now more than ever,” Asha continued. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you as much as a should, but I’m going to make up for that now. I’ll come and visit you as much as I can. I promise. And all you have to do in return in tell me the truth about what’s going on in there, okay?”

Who was this woman and where had she buried Asha’s body?

Theon was so taken aback by her admission that he could only nod numbly in agreement.

She pressed her hand up against the glass. “I love you, little brother.”

He pressed his hand up to meet hers. “I love you too.” The words felt very strange to his ears and on his tongue. He wasn’t sure he’d ever told Asha that he loved her, or hear her say the same to him. He could feel something prickling in the corner of his eye. He sniffed it down. _No weakness._ “Thanks.”

 

***

 

He never slept well in his bunk. His thoughts were loud, which would be funny to anyone who knew him. But it was the truth. Tonight he couldn’t stop thinking about Asha’s visit and how vulnerable she’d looked in the last five minutes before the guard had come to tell her that her time was up.

It was true that she’d never really been there for him, but he’d never really been there for her either. They’d never been especially close, and it was odd to think that she might be the last sane person on this planet who actually cared about him.

He pulled his thin blanket tighter and rolled over to face the wall. The paint job on the concrete bricks was sloppy, the thick paint already chipping and flaking. Whoever had bunked here last had carved into the wall _I don’t want to die here_. For the past month, Theon had had to stare at that and wonder if the vague lines across the words _don’t_ and _here_ were meant to be retractions or if his mind was just playing tricks on him.

From above, his cellmate snored loudly. At least he didn’t have to look at the man’s hideously burned face. He had hardly spoken two words to Theon since he’d been here, which suited him just fine. It was one of those rare instances where no attention was preferable. The guy was big and could probably snap him in half easily.

The beam of the night guard’s flashlight cut through the darkness. Sometimes they did that, shined a light into this cell or that to make sure the prisoners weren’t up to anything or else to just mess with anyone trying to get a good night’s sleep. Theon could have written it off, except then a second beam joined the first, and then another. Followed by the sounds of hushed whispers. Theon groaned, rolled over, and held his hand up to shield his eyes.

One of the flashlights moved to his face. “That one,” a voice said.

The door clanged open, and then someone was dragging Theon from his bunk. He yelped in surprise as he hit the ground. “What’s going on?” he asked, searching for the guards’ faces in the dark. “What did I do?”

His cellmate grunted in annoyance and flopped over. Someone down the line yelled for him to shut up.

A hand clamped over his mouth. Another set of hands grabbed his arms and pulled them behind his back so hard that he felt like his shoulder would pop out of his sockets. Theon struggled. Something wasn’t right here. He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? Well, besides the obvious. In a panic, he suddenly remembered the rumors he’d heard about what they did to prisoners who…did what he’d done. Were the guards in on it too?

“You sure you want this one?” a voice said, the guard who was keeping him quiet.

The third guard, the only one who wasn’t restraining him at the moment, knelt down slightly. In the darkness, Theon could just make out the features of Ramsay Snow, the friendly guard. Relief flooded his body. This was a misunderstanding. Ramsay wouldn’t let them hurt him.

Ramsay studied Theon’s face. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “I think there’s a lot of potential in this one.”

They hauled Theon kicking and screaming as best he could between them from the cell, while Ramsay closed and locked the door behind them.


	4. Then: Bolton Penitentiary by Night

Theon had no idea where he was, whether he was in a different wing or under the prison complex or maybe in a spaceship hovering above the Earth. They’d dragged him through enough tunnels and down enough stairs that, at this point, even if he broke loose he probably wouldn’t be able to find his way out.

They’d brought him to somewhere that looked like a mad scientist’s torture chamber. All this time he’d been afraid that struggling would only make his punishment worse—this was a punishment, right?—but when the two guards holding him tried to maneuver him onto a rusted gurney, he kicked out with renewed energy. No way. They couldn’t do this to him. This was illegal.

In the midst of his flailing, he felt a sharp prick in his arm, and then his muscles began to relax without his say so. “Easy there.” Ramsay stepped back, empty needle in one hand. The other hand ran through Theon’s hair. “This is a great honor I’ve chosen you for, Reek.”

“Th-Theon,” he protested as the other two guards wrangled him onto the gurney and began fastening the wrist and ankle restraints. This _had_ to be a misunderstanding. “I’m…Theon, not Reek. I’m not…who you think…”

“Sh.” Ramsay put a finger to his lips and tapped gently. “You’ll see. You’ll thank me later.”

This proclamation was followed by the mechanical whirring of what sounded like a buzz saw. Theon jerked against his restraints. With a snarl, one of the guards slammed his head back on the gurney. “Don’t wriggle so much,” the harsh voice said. “Don’t want to cut off your ears now.”

The buzzing came to rest at his temple, and Theon felt some relief to know it wasn’t a saw. It was electric razor, and it slid through his hair. One long stripe. Then it came back for another sweep. And another. Theon was too terrified to move. He remained completely still until while dark hair feel away under the razor’s humming grind. Every last inch of his head was sheared, leaving him feeling cold, weightless, and naked as a newborn baby.

Ramsay began brushing off the thick locks scattered about on the gurney. “Such a shame,” he muttered. He grabbed a fistful of hair and held it to his nose. “The doc lets me keep the women’s hair…”

The guard with the razor snorted in disgust. “Have at it. We’ve got a schedule to maintain.”

Ramsay’s face lit up with childlike glee. He hurried to finish his task. The other guard shook his head in disapproval and came about to gurney’s handle at Theon’s feet. There was a horrid squeak as it was rolled forwards. They left Ramsay to whatever sick thing he was doing, and Theon could only lean his head back and watch the fluorescent lights slide by overhead. His body was numb but his mind was racing. Where were they taking him? Why were they doing this to him? What _else_ were they going to do to him? Maybe this was the special punishment they reserved for child murderers.

They passed through a set of swinging doors into a room that looked like a high-tech mad scientist’s torture chamber. The lighting was painfully bright, the idle beeping of medical machines unnerving. The entire room was covered in enormous panes of glass from which shadowy figures watched on. Maybe his theory about the spaceship was correct after all?

There were also a number of men and women in full medical garb rushing about. A man with a clipboard in his hands and a surgeon’s mask over his face leaned over into Theon’s line of sight. “This one?” he asked, setting his clipboard down so he could pull Theon’s eyelids back to shine a light into his eyes. “Alright, let’s get him prepped.”

Prepped? As in surgery?

Someone took his wrist to measure his pulse; someone else cuffed a blood pressure monitor on his arm. He was poked and prodded from all angles, stuck with needles, patches applied to his chest and temples. He found himself struggling to draw breath.

“What…?”

“No need to fear, my boy,” the masked surgeon said, now jotting down notes on his clipboard. “I know this must all be quite frightening, but we’re going to administer a local anesthetic and I promise you won’t feel a thing. In fact, you’ll get a rare treat that so few of us get.” He pointed Theon’s attention to a monitor overhead, what he had first taken to be surveillance of the room. “You’re going to get to see what makes you tick in here.” He pointed to the crown of Theon’s shaved head. “A special sort of introspection, in the most literal sense.”

The beeping of his vitals quickened. “You’re performing brain surgery on me?”

“What a crude way of putting it.” The doctor sniffed indignantly behind his mask. “I prefer the term ‘augmentation’ myself.”

What did that mean? What did that mean! Were they talking about a lobotomy!? Had he been deemed so beyond rehabilitation that they were simply going to scramble his brains?

“Please…” He felt tears of fear welling in his eyes. “Please, I’m sorry. I promise, I won’t…you don’t have to do this.”

“Silence.”

The doctor looked up and another man came into Theon’s field of vision. A man he recognized. It was the warden, a man he’d had absolutely no interaction with but whom he’d seen on occasion. Word was that he was particularly fond of harsh punishments for prisoners who stepped out of line.

“Mr. Bolton,” the doctor acknowledged.

Mr. Bolton looked down at Theon with cold, cold eyes. Cold in color, cold in intent. He did not seem particularly interested in what he saw. “This is the subject my son chose?” he asked skeptically.

“You must never judge any subject’s potential based on outward appearances,” the doctor said. “Why, just look at Brainchild’s case.”

Mr. Bolton looked unconvinced but nodded. “Very well. You may proceed. As usual, our employers will be watching, so do not let me down like you did last time.”

“That was…an unfortunate accident,” the doctor replied. “We’ll take extra care to monitor this one’s vitals so that nothing of the sort happens again.”

“I have the utmost confidence in you, doctor,” Mr. Bolton said in a way that suggested his really didn’t. The room must have risen several degrees, because Theon felt himself begin to sweat. “I leave it in your capable hands.”

Then Mr. Bolton turned and left, and when Theon tried to crane his neck to follow the warden’s movements, the doctor tilted his head back. There was a maniacal gleam in his eyes. “Now, then, shall we get started?”

 

***

 

They patched up his skull and gave him something to “help” him sleep, and when Theon woke up, Maron was standing at the end of his bed. It took him a moment to remember what had happened, and an even longer moment to remember that Maron had been killed in a drive-by shooting nearly eight years ago.

“Am I in hell?”

“Why would you assume you’re in hell if _I’m_ here?” Maron asked.

Theon blinked blearily. His body hurt all over, like waking up after a night of heavy drinking. There were so many wires poking into him that he could barely move, and the mechanical beeping of his vitals made him feel more machine than human. But if he had vitals, that had to mean he was alive and not in hell.

“Are you…?” Theon laughed, unable to keep a straight face. “Are you my guardian angel?”

Maron laughed too. He had a cruel laugh that Theon had always hated, because Maron never laughed _with_ you, only _at_ you. And your pain. He looked pretty much the way he had when Theon had last seen him at the funeral, the casket open and Maron in a nice, black suit. His hair had never been so finely combed in life. He didn’t _look_ dead, though. His skin still held its color; there was no obvious bullet wound in his chest.

“Maron…help me. I don’t know what’s happening. I’m scared.” Theon tried to sit up but found he was still cuffed at the wrists and ankles. “Please, help me.”

Maron shook his head. “Looks like you got yourself into some deep shit, little brother.”

“Please, please don’t leave me here!” The machines started whirring as his heartrate took off. He could barely hear it over the pounding of blood in his ears. “Please, Maron!”

“Who are you talking to, Mr. Greyjoy?”

What seemed to be the very Voice of God boomed out from overhead. Theon looked around as best he could with his limited mobility, not that it did him any good. The entire room was dark, save for the green glow from the monitors.

“Please,” he tried again, this time pleading to the voice. “What’s going on? Where am I?”

“You’re in a recovery room two stories below Bolton Penitentiary,” the voice said levelly. “You have been resting for twelve hours following invasive brain surgery. You pulled through quite well. There were no complications. Now.” The voice took on a demanding edge. “Who are you talking to?”

Theon’s mind reeled. Was this a test of some sort? “My brother,” he answered honestly.

“There is no one in the room with you.”

“He’s here. He’s standing at the end of my bed.”

Theon looked back, just to make sure Maron hadn’t disappeared on him. He hadn’t.

“Does your brother have any significance to you, Mr. Greyjoy?” the voice probed.

That was an odd question, probably trying to determine the nature of his insanity. “Not really,” he answered, again in honesty. “He and my other brother used to bully me a lot when I was a little kid, but they both died when I was young. They’ve…been dead for eight years.”

The voice hummed, as if in approval.

“Maron,” Theon hissed. “What’s going on here?”

Maron didn’t answer, just stood there watching.

Theon couldn’t tell if the tears gathering behind his eyes were of fear, panic, or frustration. He’d never felt so disoriented in his life. His head hurt. Every limb in his body was shaking. He felt like he might vomit at any minute, but he couldn’t roll over to do it.

“Please,” he tried for the voice once more. “Please let me out of here. I just want to go back to my cell. I promise, whatever I did wrong, I won’t do it ever again.”

No answer there, either.

Theon leaned his head back against the pillows and squeezed his eyes closed tight enough to break the first of the tears loose.

“Please,” he murmured, to no one in particular, since it seemed no one was listening. “Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please.”

No one answered for a long time.


	5. Then: A Motely Crew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: STOP FLAMMING DA STORY PREPZ OK! odderwize fangs 2 da goffik ppl 4 da good reviews
> 
> Always wanted to use a ["My Immortal"](http://myimmortalrehost.webs.com/chapters122.htm) reference. In all seriousness, though, concrit is totally acceptable. Welcomed, even.

There was a battery of tests to run, which was appropriate because Theon felt battered by their constant testing. They shined bright lights in his eyes and blasted loud sounds into his ears. They hooked wires into his head and made him watch movies or still images. They even gave him actual pen and paper tests, the kind you took in primary school, on everything from his emotional state to naming obscure countries on a map. They gave him MRIs, EKGs, CATs; pills, shots, enemas. He was spinal tapped and biopsied. And through all of this, not once did any of the men and women in white suits tell him what this was about.

Maron didn’t show up after the first day. Instead, other people who clearly didn’t belong there would show up in the lab. Once, while he was being strapped in for another slideshow of crime scene photos, a man in a gold-colored overcoat leaned in next to him. “There,” he whispered in a thick accent at the picture of a man who’d had his face caved in. “That’s me. You can tell them that Oberyn Martell told you so.”

Theon looked around to see if this was part of the test. “Th-that one,” he stammered. The woman manning the slide projector looked up. “O-Oberyn…Martell.”

There was a flurry of activity, rustling of paper. “Yes,” the projectionist said after a moment. “That’s correct. How did you know?”

“He told me.”

Quiet murmuring.

The doctor with the maniacal eyes approached and squatted down so he was eye-level with Theon. “Is he here in this room with us, Mr. Greyjoy? Oberyn Martell?”

Theon nodded.

“Can you describe him for me?”

“He’s…standing right next to me. He’s wearing a yellow jacket with a starburst pattern. He has dark hair, dark eyes. He sounds foreign. Dornish, maybe?”

The doctor looked up to the projectionist, who flipped through her clipboard. At last, she nodded back.

“Very good, Mr. Greyjoy.” The doctor patted him on the cheek. “I think you’ve earned a little break, don’t you?” He stepped back and addressed one of the guards who always stood off to the side. “Would you escort Mr. Greyjoy to the lounge and see that he’s taken care of?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Theon’s skin prickled. He knew that voice. It was Ramsay.

“You.” He trembled as he was unstrapped and handed over to Ramsay’s waiting hands. “You’re the reason I’m here. Why are you doing this?”

“Because—” Ramsay began leading him from the lab “—my father asked me to. He knows I have an eye for potential.”

The door closed behind them and they were now in one of the sterile and coldly lit hallways that crisscrossed this whole facility. Theon’s bare feet hated the feeling of concrete under him.

“But why me?” he asked.

Ramsay grinned a chilling grin. Then, to ratchet up the creep factor, he buried his nose in the crook of Theon’s neck and sniffed deeply. “Reek,” he breathed.

Theon tried to pull away, but Ramsay held him tight. He was so much bigger and stronger, and Theon was exhausted from being treated like a guinea pig for over a week. He had no choice but to hang limply in Ramsay’s grasp. “I’m not him.”

“You’re sounding very ungrateful, Reek,” the other hissed in his ear. “I’ve given you a wonderful gift. Most people will waste their lives away, wallowing in their mediocrity. But you…you are just beginning to unlock your true potential. And it was all because of me.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Something cold and wet brushed along Theon’s ear, and he shuddered.

A small sob broke from his lips. He really, really just wanted to go home, to curl up in his own bed and pretend all of this, from that horrible night to this very minute, was just a terrible nightmare. Hell, if he couldn’t have that, he’d go back to his cramped little cell with the roommate who hated his guts.

Ramsay continued leading him down the hall until they reached a set of swinging doors he’d never seen before. The room inside was brightly lit, less sterile than anything he’d seen from this place so far. There were couches and chairs along the wall, one in front of a wall-mounted television tuned to the national news. Two men sat on that couch, engrossed in some conversation between themselves. Another man sat reading a book in the corner. He was a, uh…what was the politically correct term? Little person? They were, all of them, dressed in orange jumpsuits.

Fellow prisoners.

Theon had never been so happy to be led into a room with convicted felons.

Ramsay released his arm, and Theon darted out of his grasp just as soon as he could. He heard Ramsay snort, but the guard decided not to follow up on the insult and instead turned and left. Theon breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the two men on the couch.

“He’s lying,” the man with the well-trimmed goatee said, apparently of the senator speaking on the television screen.

“Of course he is,” the other man with the shaved head and rounded face said, “anyone with half a brain could see that. What they can’t see is that two weeks from now, he will be found dead in a motel room from a drug overdose.”

“Excuse me,” Theon cut in, “I have no idea what’s going on here. They dragged me out of my cell in the middle of the night and—”

The bald man held up a hand to silence him. “Yes, yes, we know the story.”

“You’re scared out of your mind,” the goateed man said, as if it were a cold hard fact. “You wish your sister Asha were here to bail you out.”

Theon blinked. “How—?”

“You’re not the only one with ‘augmentation.’”

Now that Theon looked, he could see the scar on the bald man’s head. He was willing to bet the other had a similar scar under his hair.

“What did they do to us?”

“Come sit with us.” The bald man patted the couch beside him.

“Oh, don’t go trying to woo the boy over to your side.” The third man snapped his book closed and got to his feet. He barely came to Theon’s chest. “Pay them no mind,” he said in a sophisticated manner, book tucked under his arm. “They like to show off.”

“You have a lot of questions,” the goateed man noted.

“Very well, introductions.” The small man looked from the goateed man to the bald one. “Which names shall I use?”

The bald man sighed. “I refuse to put up with that codename business.”

“Still, might as well,” the goateed man countered.

The small man gestured to the two on the couch. “May I introduce you to Varys, codename Spider, and Petyr, codename Mockingbird. And I,” he placed a hand on his own chest, “am Tyrion.”

“No codename?” Theon asked.

“Oh, do tell him your codename,” the man called Petyr said with a malicious glee in his voice.

Tyrion frowned. “My codename is Brainchild.” He lifted his chin. “For obvious reasons, I suppose. I have made a promise to kill whoever decided it for me. My father, no doubt.”

“Your father?” Theon asked.

“Why, Tywin Lannister, four-star general, the man in charge of this operation, of course.” Tyrion’s face turned into one of the deepest, most hate-filled grimaces Theon had ever seen on a human. “He not only threw me under the bus, he put the bus in reverse and came back to run me over.”

“And you thought _your_ family was dysfunctional,” Petyr said.

“See what I mean? Showoff.”

“I don’t like the term psychic,” Petyr continued in response to Theon’s unspoken thought. “I prefer…sensitive.”

“Yes, if you call rewiring our brains ‘sensitive,’” Tyrion sighed.

“Is…is that what they did?” Theon leaned against the couch for support. “Is that why…Maron was in my room?”

“Who?” Tyrion asked.

“His dead brother,” Petyr answered.

“Ah, so you’re that type of psychic,” Tyrion continued, ignoring Petyr’s wry grin. “You’re a medium. A clairvoyant. A channeler. You, my dear boy, can see dead people.”

“But you already suspected that,” Petyr added as Theon slumped to the ground.

“If you haven’t figured it out, Petyr is a telepath. A mind reader. And Varys is a diviner. That is, he can see the future. And I…well, I’m afraid my gift sounds far less impressive when compared to that, but I assure you, my powers of cognition are far advanced to any normal human’s. I have perfect photographic memory, I can learn a language in a day, I can beat both of these numbskulls at chess. It’s far more useful to them than it sounds.”

“Them?” Theon looked up.

“Them,” Tyrion repeated, hands spread wide. “They, them. My father, Bolton, whoever else he has in on this scheme. He’s building a special type of soldier, one that can operate from the war room without ever even seeing a battle. Naturally, we’re just prototypes, but—”

“This isn’t real,” Theon declared. “This can’t be real.”

“Oh, do you have another power as well?” Tyrion laughed dryly. “The power to make reality vanish? Is that it? Maybe you could do a favor for me, in that case. Do you think you could make me not a dwarf, not a Lannister, and not surrounded by people who hate me?” He slapped Theon surprisingly roughly across the face. “Don’t go hiding in your own little world, boy. You need to accept what’s in front of you, or else you’ll never survive here.”

Theon buried his face in his hands and sobbed.


	6. Now: On the Couch

“I wouldn’t have believed it myself.” Jon sat back in his chair and ran a hand over his face. “I’m still not sure I believe it, but…you know things you couldn’t possibly know.”

Across the table, Theon was trembling. He’d had a hard time to telling his story, Jon could tell. Even though he had so many questions left—How had Theon escaped? Who was authorizing these experiments on the prisoners of Bolton Penitentiary?—he couldn’t, in good faith, make the poor man continue like this.

“In any case, I believe that something very wrong is going on at that prison,” Jon continued, sliding his chair back and standing. “I won’t be calling the police on you.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll pull out the fold-out bed. We can continue this discussion after you get some rest.”

The look of relief that flooded Theon’s face was heartbreaking. He rose on shaky legs. “I’m so tired.”

It wasn’t even dark out, but Jon couldn’t blame the guy for being tired. He hurried to get the spare sheets from the hallway closet, but when he came back, Theon had already curled up on the couch and was hugging the throw pillow tightly. He also appeared to be crying, shoulders shaking as he buried his face in the pillow.

“What’s wrong?” Jon dropped the sheets and ran to his side. “Are you—do I need to get a doctor? We can—”

Theon lifted his head enough that he could wipe his cheeks with the back of his hand. “It’s so soft,” he said miserably.

Jon sat back on his heels, not sure what to make of that. He’d been planning to unfold the couch, but if Theon was comfortable the way he was now, that was fine. “Do you want a blanket?”

Theon shivered and nodded.

Jon went to retrieve the sheets, flannel for these late summer nights. He draped the top sheet over Theon’s quivering form, then piled on the throw blanket from the couch and the extra comforter from the closet. Gradually, as he added layers, Theon’s shaking gave way, and he burrowed into his blankets like a hibernating bear. It wasn’t especially cold this afternoon, but as there didn’t seem to be a bit of fat on him, it was possible he really was freezing. Jon rubbed his shoulder through the blankets, as if he could work some warmth into the frail body.

Theon looked up. “What are you doing?”

Jon abruptly stopped. “Sorry. I…my girlfriend used to do that for me when I was cold.” He realized a.) how weird that sounded and b.) how creepy he was being doing it to Theon. He withdrew his hand.

“Ygritte?” Theon asked. “The one with the red hair?”

Jon nodded. “Is she…here? Now?” He realized for the first time that he _wanted_ to believe Theon. He wanted to believe that it was possible to see and speak with the dead. He wanted to believe he wasn’t as alone as he felt.

Theon regarded him through half-lidded eyes. “She says she misses you.”

Jon gave a bark of laughter at that. Seriously? Maybe he had gotten his hopes up about this guy. “Really?”

He nodded against the pillow. “She says she’s still angry at you but that she doesn’t blame you for what happened.” He lowered his eyes. “And she says she’s sorry too.”

“Sorry?” That didn’t sound like Ygritte at all. “What for?”

“For making you choose,” Theon said. “She says…if she could do it all over…she’d…” His eyebrows drew together in concentration. “Something about listening to you. Living in a cave? I don’t—” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so tired and it takes a lot of energy to listen to what they’re saying.”

“Oh.” Jon nodded dumbly. “Okay. I’ll let you rest then.”

He began to stand, and when Theon didn’t stop him, he turned and walked stiffly down the hallway. For a good ten minutes, he sat on the end of his bed and contemplated everything that had happened in the last hour. He’d brought a stranger home, learned about a secret plot to give prisoners superpowers, and found out that there was life after death. Well, that was more eventful than most of his days lately, spending all day in the apartment searching through the classified section of the newspaper, going outside only for groceries or to walk Ghost.

Ghost hopped up onto the bed with him, and Jon scratched his ears distractedly.

What was he supposed to do now? He had a wanted man sleeping on his couch. He couldn’t call the police or the hospital, since they would both be looking for him. Even if there were lingering doubts in his mind, Jon had seen enough traumatized people in his line of work— _former_ line of work—to know that Theon had definitely been abused at Bolton Penitentiary. He wouldn’t send him back there, not without asking around for answers first.

He took his phone out of his pants pocket and dialed Sam’s number.

“Jon?”

“Yeah, got a minute?”

“For you? Sure.”

“I was wondering if you could do some research for me.”

A pause.

“What sort of research are we talking about?”

Jon couldn’t blame him for being wary. After all, Jon’s brief stint as a whistleblower had nearly taken Sam down as well.

“Nothing illegal. I just want to know about Bolton Penitentiary.”

“The high-security place up on the hill?”

“That’s the one.”

“What do you want to know about it?”

“I want to know if there have been any unusual reports about prisoners disappearing.”

“Disappearing? As in escaping?”

“No, just…you know, anything suspicious. And I want to know if there’s a guard by the name of Ramsay Snow working there.”

Sam was silent for a moment.

“Jon, it sounds like—forgive me—it sounds like you’re looking for something specific.”

Jon glanced down the hall, where he could just see the foot of the sofa. “I can’t go into too many details right now, but I promise you, I wouldn’t do anything to get you into trouble.”

“I know that,” Sam said. “I just…” He sighed. “I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“No problem,” he replied in a way that suggested it actually was. “Oh, Gilly wanted to know if you’re up for a dinner night this week. I’ve been working some overtime and would be happy to treat.”

Jon smiled despite himself. He could never accept Sam’s charity, but he appreciated the offer. “Actually, it’s looking to be a pretty busy week for me, but I’ll let you know, alright?”


	7. Now: You Read Me Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song [I Didn't Mean to Turn You On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8BV1Ft4BQ1o).
> 
> The Martell scale is an obvious reference to the [Kinsey scale](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kinsey_scale).
> 
> And lastly, shout out to [Calamidad](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Calamidad/pseuds/Calamidad) for correcting some of my misinformation from the first chapter. Hope I fixed it here.

“Is your hair naturally that color?”

Theon looked up from eating his cereal. He’d slept all afternoon, into the night, and into the morning. Jon had actually woken up before him, which gave him time to buy the appropriate groceries and other basic necessities.

Theon twirled a lock of white hair between his fingers, as if noticing it for the first time. “No,” he answered. “It grew back that way after…um, after they shaved it off, I guess.”

“It’s pretty distinctive.” Jon dug the hair dye out of the grocery bag and set it on the table in front of Theon. “I was thinking we might want to make you blend in a little bit?”

Theon picked up the box and studied it. It was just a cheap box from the grocery store down the street, the type that sold low-priced cosmetics and the like. But it wasn’t like Theon could go to a salon, even if Jon had the money for it.

“I’ve never been a dirty blond before,” he said after a moment.

“Oh.” Jon felt his face flushing with embarrassment. “I mean, I can return it—”

“No, it’s fine.” Theon smiled. It was tiny and uncertain, appeasing. “I like it. Will you help me dye it?”

Jon blinked in surprise. “Uh…sure. Yeah. Now, or…?”

With his free hand, Theon picked up his spoon. “Let me finish my breakfast?”

“Oh, right.”

Later, Theon sat on the edge of the tub, his hair wetted, an old towel wrapped around his neck. Jon struggled to unfold the instruction pamphlet while wearing the ridiculous plastic gloves provided by the box.

“Let’s see…massage into scalp. Sounds easy enough.” Jon picked up the bottle of dye and began applying it to Theon’s hair. It took immediately, probably because his hair was completely white, but nonetheless, Jon began massaging it in to get an even color. He could feel every bump of Theon’s head through the paper-thin gloves, the scar where they’d cracked him open; it was oddly intimate.

As if reading Jon’s thoughts—he couldn’t do that, could he?—Theon leaned his head back and moaned. Low and throaty. Pornographic.

“H-hey,” Jon stammered. “Keep still.”

“Sorry.” Theon straightened back up. “It just feels so good. Your fingers.”

Jon used his forearm to wipe away a bead of sweat on his forehead. “Sorry?”

“My head hurts all the time,” Theon elaborated. “It always feels like…there’s so much pressure built up inside. And when _they_ talk to me, it feels like it’s going to blow my eardrums out or something. Even when they’re quiet…it hurts. But what you’re doing now…” He arched his back. “Ah, it feels good.”

This was getting weird. This was getting uncomfortable. This was getting…kinda gay.

Not that Jon had anything against gay men—he had several gay and lesbian friends himself—it was just that he wasn’t one. Gay, that was. And yeah, there was the Martell scale and all that stuff, but women were just so effortlessly appealing whereas a man had to be especially good-looking for him to even notice and why was he even thinking about this?

He hurried to finish the dye job, doing a fairly crappy job of it. But then he could pull off the dye-stained gloves and keep his hands to himself. “Okay,” he said, reaching for the instruction pamphlet, “it says to let that set for fifteen minutes, then you’re supposed to rinse it out until the water runs clear.”

Theon nodded.

“I’ll…be back in a few. I need something in the…” Jon didn’t bother to finish his excuse. He bolted from the bathroom and retreated to the safety of his own bedroom. His heart was beating a frantic pace, and he flopped himself down on his bed. The right side.

Ever since Ygritte had been killed, he’d kept his spot on the right side of the bed. Sometimes, if he slept with his back facing the empty spot on the left side, he could pretend she was still there, sleeping so lightly that he couldn’t even hear her. Like, maybe she was so tired out from all the wild sex they’d had the night before.

Except Ygritte never got tired out. She was boundless energy incarnate. “Kissed by Fire” the other gang members had called her, wild and untamed. Sometimes Jon wondered what she’d ever seen in him, a young undercover cop whose disguise couldn’t be fooling anyone.

He jumped when he felt something hot and wet slurping at his ear. He rolled over and pushed Ghost back. Sometimes, when Ghost slept in the empty spot on the bed, Jon would have dreams that he was a dog chasing a rabbit. They were always so vivid, the sensation of using his nose and ears to “see,” the way the world tasted around him. They were nice dreams, good for clearing his mind. Other times, Ghost would just wake him up by kicking out in his sleep. It seemed that was what he was doing now, snapping Jon out of his melancholy daydreams.

Geez, why was he getting so bent out of shape over a little homoeroticism? Maybe because he wasn’t ready to think of another human being like that right now. As he ran the situation over in his mind, he had to admit that he’d probably be about as freaked out if it were a woman making those noises under his ministrations.

“Yeah,” he sighed, running a hand through Ghost’s thick white fur, “I guess I can’t just leave him in the bathroom to fend for himself.” He got up, and Ghost followed him down the hallway.

The sounds of the hair dryer told him Theon had already rinsed out his hair and was now finishing the process. Jon gave a gentle knock on the door and entered. Theon looked up from the mirror, hair still slightly damp and now in curly ringlets falling in his face.

“Looks good,” Jon said with as easy a smile as he could manage. And it did, despite his rushed job. The color was a bit darker than it had been on the box, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that there was no trace of white left. Not only did it help to disguise him, it also took that haunted edge off his face, making it younger and softer. The young man he had been before any of this had happened. He was…handsome. Jon could admit that. Not…not movie star handsome, but…he probably wouldn’t have any trouble picking up women. Or men, if he was into that sort of thing.

Theon smiled weakly back. “I hardly recognize myself in the mirror.”

Jon leaned against the door frame as Theon continued drying his hair. “So…I guess we need to talk about what we’re going to do.”

Theon switched off the hair dryer and set it on the counter. He looked tired again. “Okay,” he agreed. “I promised your cousin I’d tell you something important.”

Jon froze. He hadn’t really meant anything about that, the dead people. But Robb had something important to tell him? “What?”

Theon shrugged. “Maybe…can we move out to the living room to do it? If he decides to try to take over my body again, I’ll probably convulse and it’s best if you just let it work itself out.”

“Is that what happened yesterday?” Jon asked. He’d suspected. In that instant after the seizure, Theon’s eyes had looked familiar, and now he knew why. They were Robb’s eyes looking up at him. Ghost had recognized him as well. “Yeah, sure,” he agreed. “I want you to be comfortable.”

Theon nodded gratefully, and together they went to the living room. Theon sat on the couch, amidst all the blankets from last night. Jon stood by the television, watching.

Theon closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “Okay, I’m ready.” Immediately, his brows came together, and a vein bulged on his temple. He gritted his teeth. “Slow down, slow down.” The pained look on his face subsided. “He…says his death wasn’t an accident.”

Jon’s breath caught in his throat. Of course it hadn’t been an accident. He’d been mugged on his way home, stabbed through the ribs by a still-unknown assailant. Was that what Robb wanted to tell him? Who his murderer had been?

“He says he was murdered,” Theon went on, confirming Jon’s suspicions, “but…but not by a random mugger. It was made to look like a mugging. He says the killer was a gun for hire, sent to silence him. He was on the trail of something big, something important.” Theon’s eyes snapped open. “He says the man who killed him was hired by Roose Bolton.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading!


	8. Then: Impressing the Benefactors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for general Ramsay creepiness.

Roose Bolton was an intimidating man. Not because he was tall or well-muscled. But he was grim. And he was silent. He watched Theon with cold, familiar eyes and didn’t say a word. Theon was almost glad when his head was strapped against the chair’s headrest, just so that he wouldn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder at the warden’s unsettling gaze.

“This is the creature my son chose?” Bolton asked in level tone.

“We’ve codenamed him Ghost,” the ever-present maniacal doctor, whom Theon had learned was called Qyburn, said. “For obvious reasons, as you’ll soon see.” He came around to the front of the chair and knelt down like an adult giving instructions to a child. “Mr. Greyjoy, are any of the deceased with us now? In this room?”

“Don’t make me talk to them anymore,” Theon begged.

“Now, Mr. Greyjoy, if you don’t cooperate with us, we’re going to have to use other measures. You would not like that.”

Theon shook his head. “I can’t.”

Qyburn sighed. “You’re embarrassing me in front of Mr. Bolton.”

“I can’t,” Theon repeated in an even softer voice.

Qyburn nodded to someone over his shoulder. A split second later, pain like Theon had never imagined laced through his entire body. It was electric and burning, and he swore he smelt flesh burning. Light erupted between his eyes, whiting out the world around him. His brain throbbed, pounding against his skull. All the voices he’d been trying to ignore flooded his ears.

“Stop!” he shrieked. He couldn’t even hear his own voice over the others'. “Please stop! I’m going to die!”

“Tell us what you see, Mr. Greyjoy. Tell us what you hear.”

Theon felt his body seize. “There are too many,” he ground out. “Please! I’ll go crazy!”

The intense pain stopped but lingered in every joint. The hair that had begun to grow back on his head stood up straight. He had never felt more exhausted in his life, and he realized that he had wet himself. His face burned with shame, but Qyburn didn’t mention it. Instead, he leaned back in and said, “What did they tell you, Mr. Greyjoy?”

Theon sniffled. He felt tears making their way off his chin and down his neck. “They tell me they didn’t want to die.”

“Who?”

“Th-the boys I killed. They want to know why I didn’t pull over to help them…” He squeezed his eyes closed. They were still there, in the room. Looking at him. He didn’t want to see them, didn’t want to hear them. “I was drinking. My license was suspended. I didn’t…I was scared…I didn’t mean…”

“Ah, the Miller boys,” Qyburn said. “The younger one was killed on impact. The older one died the next day at the hospital. Is that correct?”

Theon nodded. “Please, let me out of here.”

Qyburn stood to his full height. His footsteps clicked across the floor, and Theon was vaguely aware of his hushed conversation with Roose Bolton.

“It could be a figment of his imagination,” Bolton said.

“It could, but we’ve run conclusive tests that show Mr. Greyjoy, Ghost, is definitely privy to information no living person would have. He has successfully contacted the spirits of our staff’s family members, murder victims, even a deceased subject from an earlier test. The details he’s reported have been one hundred percent confirmed, some even brought to our attention for the first time. I believe Ghost could be a clear asset for your associate.”

Bolton made a soft humming noise. “I see potential,” he said at last. “Very well. Unhook him. I want him presentable when General Lannister comes for his next evaluation.”

Theon was completely limp as he was helped out of the chair. He fell into strong arms that hauled him up.

“Well, what do you think, Father?”

Theon tensed.

“You did well enough, Ramsay,” Bolton said, “but my rival at the other facility is showing even better results. Still, I’m inclined to give you another chance.”

Ramsay made a growling noise deep in his throat but didn’t say anything as he led Theon from the room. Once they were alone out in the hall, he slammed Theon up against the wall. “Just how useless are you?”

Theon whimpered as Ramsay pressed into his space. “Sorry.”

“More than sorry.” Ramsay cupped Theon’s chin. “You’re pathetic.” He studied him with those cold eyes; his gaze was not quite as intense as his father’s, but with much more maliciousness. “When General Lannister gets here, I want you on your best behavior. Do you understand?”

Theon nodded. He wasn’t sure what Ramsay wanted from him, but it was better to agree.

Ramsay’s face softened. “I know you will, Reek. I know you want to be good for me.” He leaned in, and before Theon could react, their lips were pressed together. Ramsay was so rough with his kiss that he slammed Theon’s head against the wall with a loud crack. His grip became bruising. Theon squirmed against it. Ramsay’s free hand stroked its way down his body and began to play between his legs. "Did we have a little accident, Reek?"

This was hideous. He didn’t want this. Would rather be back in the chair than this.

He tried to pull away, but Ramsay was insistent. He couldn’t even break free to call for help. Not that he was sure anyone _would_ help him.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Ramsay drew back breathlessly. “We’ll have time for all of this later, Reek.” He patted Theon’s cheek. “Right now, I think Father would like you to rest up for your big day.”

Theon was crying nervous tears and shaking so badly that Ramsay had to carry him back to his room to be strapped down to his little hospital bed.

“Now, Reek, there’s no need for that,” Ramsay shushed. He stroked the bristly hair on Theon’s head, leaned over, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “You’re going to do just fine. And if you impress Father and his associate, I promise to have a reward waiting for you.”

Theon didn’t want any “reward.” He didn’t want to impress Mr. Bolton and his associate. What he wanted more than anything at the moment was to be dead. As dead as the two boys watching with hollow eyes from the corner of his room.

 

***

 

General Tywin Lannister, Roose Bolton’s “associate” and Tyrion’s father, arrived two days later, dressed smartly in uniform and followed by an entourage of lab-coated technicians. He acknowledged Bolton with a nod of the head. “Forgive me for my tardiness,” he said. “I had an issue to deal with. One of my underlings has been asking questions.”

“I know the type,” Bolton replied, and it seemed to Theon that there had never been a more calm and level conversation between two men ever before. He cringed when they both turned their gazes on him, dressed in a hospital gown, electrodes connecting him an array of computers.

“This is our subject?” Lannister asked. “He’s come a long way since I saw him last.”

“He has,” Bolton agreed. “We’ll demonstrate.” He snapped his fingers. “Ghost, come here.”

Theon slunk forward, trailing his wires behind him, and came to stand in front of the assembled group. He did as Bolton had instructed and held his head upright to maintain eye contact with Lannister. _Remain respectful, not challenging_. He tried to make his return gaze as non-threatening as possible.

“This is General Tywin Lannister. He owns you, and every other subject in our facility.” Bolton clasped his hands behind his back. “Why don’t you show him what you can do?”

Theon looked around the room. It was getting easier and easier to pick them out, the people who didn’t belong there and who nobody else could see. It hurt to concentrate on what they said to him, but he had to do this. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to him if the man who “owned” him judged his talents to be useless.

Lannister was watching intently, as if waiting for him to fail.

Theon decided to start with the most obvious. “There’s a man. He says his name is Roger and he's here on behalf of the Reynes.” He tried to maintain eye contact. “He says you’ll know what that means.”

Lannister gave no indication.

“There's...a woman and her children. The woman has dark hair. The children have silver hair. I don’t…they won’t talk to me. They’re standing right behind you.”

Lannister raised an eyebrow and looked behind, as did several in his entourage. Of course he wouldn’t see anyone there.

“Um…there's another woman,” Theon finally admitted, “standing very close to you now. She says her name is Joanna—”

Lannister’s eyes went wide.

“—she says you’ve abandoned the children. She says—”

“Enough!” Lannister looked like he was about to slap Theon across the face, but he didn’t. He remained calm and collected. “Who do you think you are to talk like that to me?”

“I’m only telling you what she’s saying,” Theon protested. He flinched back and broke eye contact. “She says the children are suffering and she doesn’t understand—”

“I said silence!”

Theon closed his mouth with a sharp click.

Lannister eyed him up and down for a few seconds. Then he turned back to Bolton. “What practical application do you see for him?”

Bolton inclined his head slightly. “He’s able to speak with deceased personnel, perhaps those who perished before they could relay proper information. There is also the benefit of knowing which of our enemies are dead.” He looked to Theon. “Ghost, tell him what you told Dr. Qyburn the other day.”

“I saw…a man from Essos, a warlord named Khal Drogo. He’s dead. Assassinated.”

“And has this been confirmed?”

“It has,” Bolton said, “several hours after Ghost relayed the information.”

Lannister nodded in what might have been approval. “Very good, Bolton. Tell Qyburn I am pleased with his work. Though perhaps this one still needs some training on how to address commanding officers.”

“It will be done,” Bolton agreed, and together, along with the entourage, the lot of them filed from the room.


	9. Now: Reeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update today! 
> 
> Thanks, everyone, for all your comments.

“Roose Bolton?” Jon repeated incredulously. “As in, the man who runs Bolton Penitentiary?” He began to pace back and forth across the living room floor, hand to chin in concentration. “And Tywin Lannister? Bigwig military man? _That_ Tywin Lannister? Working together to…what? Create an army of super soldiers?”

Theon, still on the couch, shrugged. “Well, when you say it like _that_ …”

“And Robb knew about it? Or was close to finding out about it?” Jon tried to remember anything Robb might have mentioned in the weeks leading up to his death. Robb had always been secretive about his work, but that went hand-in-hand with working at the Department of the Interior. But surely he would have come to Jon with something this big.

“He was collecting evidence,” Theon went on. “He says the ‘mugger’ took his briefcase, and Tywin Lannister sent someone to quietly clean out his office afterwards. They removed all traces. But…” He pinched his brow in concentration. “He says he left all his important files at home. He says they’re still there.”

Jon stopped pacing. “Which home?”

“The family estate,” Theon answered without hesitation. “He says there’s an old safe there that was perfect for hiding his files in. He never told anyone, and someone named Ned was the only other person who knew about it.” Theon placed his palm against his forehead. “He apologizes ahead of time, but he wants you to retrieve it.”

“Me?” Jon asked. He and Robb had always been close, and Jon was always willing to do anything to help out Robb. But this… “And do _what_ with it?” Who was he supposed to go to this information? Who would even believe him?

Theon shrugged again. “He’s being really considerate right now. There’s a lot he wants to tell you, but he doesn’t want to overload me at the moment.” Theon poked a hole in the fabric of his jeans, absentmindedly almost. “Your cousin was a good guy.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“He says he’ll have instructions later. Right now it’s just important to get those files.”

Jon nodded. He supposed he could handle that for now.

Theon’s shoulders relaxed, and Jon took that to mean Robb was gone. Or least not putting pressure on his brain. Jon coughed awkwardly into his hand. “How…uh, how are you feeling? After all that, I mean?”

“I’m fine,” Theon answered. “A little tired.”

“You want to rest a little?”

Theon nodded and began to lie out on the couch. He used the old towel from the bathroom to shield the pillows from his still-damp hair. Jon made to pull the covers up over him, and Theon froze. Jon froze too. The blankets were in his hands, and he realized how silly it was to tuck a grown man in for a nap. _I really need to stop being so creepy_.

“Thank you,” Theon said in a tiny voice.

Jon figured he might as well follow through with it and brought the covers to Theon’s chin. He’d always liked taking care of people, especially weaker people. That was how he’d befriended Sam, after all, and Gilly. Reflecting back, it was probably why he’d gone into the police force in the first place. Just being this close to Theon reminded him of the battered men, women, and children whose cases he’d worked on. Those were always the most soul-rending, and yet he had never turned away from them.

“Theon…” he began slowly. “I know you don’t want to go to the police. For obvious reasons,” he added hastily when Theon’s eyes widened. “But I was thinking…I have a friend who’s a counselor, and he does drop-in visits. Maybe I could get him to come for a while so you could…talk to him…about all of this.”

“You really think a shrink is going to talk me through the whole ‘seeing dead people thing’?”

“No, I meant…” Jon tried to remember all his early training, how to talk to people who’d been through psychical, psychological, and emotional trauma. “I meant about what they did to you. You were basically kidnapped and tortured. This counselor friend of mine works a lot with police officers and veterans dealing with PTSD.”

Theon drew the blankets around himself. “I’m not crazy.”

“Not crazy, no. In fact, it’s nor—”

“Don’t you _dare_ say normal,” Theon snapped.

Jon closed his mouth.

“No doctors. No more white coats. They don’t help. They don’t! Not if you scream and scream. They don’t care!”

“Theon…”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” He pulled the covers over his head.

He was already riled enough, and Jon didn’t want to push him anymore. He stood and ran his hands through his hair. Just as he was about to say something—something brilliant, no doubt, that would make everything better—his phone beeped and vibrated in his pocket. He wrestled it into his hands. “I’ve gotta take this call.”

No response from the blankets.

Jon headed down the hallway towards his room and held the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Jon, it’s Sam.”

“Sam, right.” He’d almost forgotten he’d put Sam on info-gathering duty. If anyone could find sensitive information, it was this tech-savvy kid in the cybercrimes division. “What have you got for me?”

“It looks like your guy used to work at a women’s prison,” Sam began, “but he was transferred after several…incidents?” He sounded unsure about that last part.

“Incidents?” Jon prodded.

“Well, that’s the thing. There were several complaints listed on his record, but everything had been wiped clean. I dug a little deeper and came up with some troubling information. Looks like he was overly fond of using physical force, and several inmates and even a few other guards complained that he was behaving inappropriately around his charges. There’s also a doctor’s report showing…uh, sexual abuse to some of the women.”

Jon felt a hitch in his throat.

“This Ramsay Snow looks like a real dirt bag,” Sam continued. “He was transferred to Bolton Penitentiary last year, probably to avoid all this mess in his record. Someone went through a lot of trouble to cover his backside. I don’t see anything about charges or even official reports sent to the proper authorities.” Sam sighed. “Jon, I thought you said this wasn’t anything that was going to get you in trouble.”

“No, I said it wouldn’t get _you_ in trouble.”

“Jon,” Sam said sternly. “I’m serious. After what happened…if you try to pursue _this_ thing…” He trailed off. “I’m worried about you, Jon. I’m worried you could really step on the wrong person’s toes. Someone much worse than Alliser Thorne.”


	10. Then: Like a Rat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for noncon and sexual assault.

It seemed he’d passed some initiation ritual, or at least convinced the people in charge that he was worth keeping around. Theon wasn’t convinced this was a good thing, though Tyrion said it was. “Trust me,” he said without looking up from his book. He’d started a new one since Theon had seen him last. “You don’t want to know what they do if they have no further use for you.”

That, at least, Theon could agree with him on.

“I, for one, think you have an incredibly useful talent. It certainly would have come in handy for _my_ trial.” He flipped to the next page. “My farce of a trial. Would have loved for you to bring my dear nephew’s shade back from whatever nether realm he lingers in. I am a bit curious, though. Who _did_ off the little brat?”

“He’s convinced you still did it,” Theon answered.

“Ah, so perhaps the dead do not know everything.” Tyrion flipped to the next page.

“I can only say what they tell me.”

“Perhaps it’s best to keep that information to yourself,” Petyr spoke up. He and Varys were on the couch watching television again, apparently their favorite pastime. “You’re running a one-hundred-percent accuracy rate at the moment. It wouldn’t do to mess that up.”

Theon shot him a nasty look. “Lysa says she can't wait to be with you again.”

Petyr’s smug face fell at that.

“Oh, Petyr, perhaps you should be careful with this one,” Varys suggested with a knowing smile.

Petyr schooled his expression. “Now, now, there’s enough gloating going on in your head, dear Spider. I don’t need any coming out of your mouth, too.”

“You’re going to slip in the shower and bang your head,” Varys countered. “They’ll want to run extra tests to make sure nothing was damaged, of course.”

Petyr sneered and Tyrion sighed and flipped to the next page. The air was heavy, waiting for one of them to make the next retort, when the doors on the far side of the lounge swung open and Dr. Qyburn announced, “Brainchild.”

Tyrion looked up from his book, a tic working at the corner of his eye. “Do. Not. Call me that.”

“Please come with me.”

Tyrion set his book down and scooted his way off his seat, grumbling darkly the whole time.

Dr. Qyburn looked to the other subjects. “Ghost, Ramsay will be by to escort you to your room for your afternoon medication.”

Theon hugged his knees to his chest. “Can’t you get another guard to escort me?”

“Ramsay will be fine,” Qyburn said dismissively. “He’s nothing if not professional. I don’t want to hear that you’ve been giving him a bad time.” And that was it. There was no one else to protest to.

Theon sighed in defeat as Qyburn led Tyrion from the room.

He cringed, five minutes later, when he heard Ramsay’s sing-song voice calling for him out in the hall. Not by name, but by that _other_ thing he kept calling him. He still felt dirty after their last encounter. And while he was in no hurry to be alone with Ramsay again, neither was he in a hurry to anger the guard either. He uncurled himself and began slowly towards the door, like a man walking to the chopping block.

“Theon.”

He paused when Varys called his name. He looked back to see an oddly sympathetic expression on the man’s face.

“Yeah?”

Varys looked like he was thinking before he finally shook his head. “No, never mind.”

That had to be a warning of some kind. Petyr, who could read what was going on in the other man’s head, had gone silent and uncharacteristically grim. Theon didn’t like it. Any of it. It made him feel even more as though he were being paraded to his execution.

“Glad I didn’t have to come in there and get you,” Ramsay said as Theon poked his head out through the swinging doors. Nonetheless, he grabbed Theon’s arm and yanked him out into the hall. Theon tried to dig his heels in, but it was no use. Ramsay was an unstoppable force, at least for his pathetic resistance.

They began walking down the hall towards Theon’s room.

“Father’s happy,” Ramsay noted conversationally. “You must have impressed Lannister. I’m very proud, Reek.” His grip became punishing on Theon’s upper arm. “Doc Qyburn says to have you take your medication and put you straight to bed, but I think you’ve earned the right to stay up late. I have something I want to give you.”

“Please,” Theon whined as he was dragged along, “don’t hurt me. I did what you said. I was well-behaved.”

“And well-behaved dogs deserve a reward.” Ramsay pushed the door open and forced Theon inside. “You’re trembling, Reek. You must be quite eager. Patience, patience. I’ve got your reward right here.” He gave Theon a rough shove that sent him stumbling into the bed. As he grasped at the railing for support, Ramsay came up hind him and gripped his hips.

Was it possible to choke on your own throat? It sure felt like it, in that moment. “Please don’t do this.” And he had no doubt what Ramsay had in mind as he ground his obvious erection into him. Everyone knew prison rape was a thing, but he’d never thought of the guards as being in on it.

Heedless of his panic, Ramsay reached around and grabbed for the zipper of Theon’s jumpsuit. As he began to slide it down with a soft hiss, he leaned in and left a trail of wet kisses along Theon’s neck.

Theon shuddered and tried to buck him off. “Please!”

Ramsay bit down, hard, and Theon yelped.

“Don’t talk,” Ramsay snarled. “And don’t say the word ‘please’ again, or you might end up not liking your reward so well.” A hand snaked inside his open jumpsuit. Ramsay’s fingers were freezing cold as they dug into the waistband of Theon’s boxers.

Theon sobbed. He was so helpless, pinned, trapped. If he cried out for help, would anyone even hear? Would anyone even care? He had never felt so utterly alone, so tiny and unnoticed by the world.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. There was one last-ditch effort.

“They’re watching.”

“Who?” Ramsay smirked. He knew who.

“They’re here,” Theon tried again. “They’re _watching_ us.”

“Oh, are _they_?” Ramsay chuckled against his neck. “We’d better give them a good show.” Those cold fingers began probing.

“Your mother!” Theon screamed out, arching off the bed. “It’s your mother! She’s watching you!”

Ramsay went stiff. “Don’t lie to me,” he growled.

“I’m not lying.” Tears were streaming down Theon’s face now. He thought he would vomit if Ramsay didn’t _take his hand away_. “She’s short. She has dark hair, but not your eyes. She’s crying. She says you were a child by rape and she wishes she’d raised you better. She wishes she’d never let you hang around with Reek. She—”

Ramsay struck him harshly across the back of the head.

“Shut. Up.” His voice was low and dangerous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She says she’s watched you with the others.”

Ramsay struck him again. “Shut up, Reek!”

“Red Jeyne, Grey Jeyne, Helicent…” Theon didn’t know whose names Ramsay’s mother was listing off for him. He’d probably be able to guess if he chose to think about it. “Jez, Alison, Kyra…”

Ramsay grabbed hold of Theon’s short hair and slammed his face into the bed. Theon’s knees buckled, and as Ramsay stepped back, unpinning him, he slid to the ground. He collapsed there and waited for Ramsay to continue. But nothing happened. No boots kicking him to get up. No hands grabbing for him. He chanced a glance up to see a bewildered expression on Ramsay’s face.

“You’ve ruined the mood,” he said casually, then turned and walked away. “Medicine’s on the bedside. Take it or you’ll get a punishment. And trust me, if you don’t like my rewards, you’re definitely not going to like my punishments.”

The door slammed shut behind him.


	11. Now: Stark Manor, the Family Estate

“Jon,” Catelyn acknowledged coldly with a tilt of her head. She eyed him up and down, then Theon, clearly not impressed with the two young men at her doorstep. “Jon’s…friend.”

“Theon,” Jon offered.

“Theon,” she repeated. “Always a pleasure.”

Jon had never been able to figure out what, in Sansa’s words, Catelyn’s “damage” was. She had always been distant to him growing up in their household. She’d never hit him or anything like that, but neither had she ever hugged him. Or kissed him on the cheek. Or ruffled his hair. She never came to his soccer games, and she never went to his parent-teacher meetings. So whereas he had always called Ned “Father,” he had never felt comfortable calling Catelyn “Mother.” She probably would have cut his tongue out if he had anyway.

Jon rubbed self-consciously at the back of his neck. “Sorry for not giving notice, Mrs. Stark, but I…ran into an old friend of Robb’s the other day.”

Catelyn’s eyes narrowed in on Theon. “ _You_ were a friend of Robb’s?” She sounded incredulous.

“Sure, you remember Theon. He was always hanging out with Robb after school.”

“No,” she replied. “In fact, I don’t remember him mentioning you at all.”

“Really?” Jon feigned surprise and continued to scratch at the back of his head. “Because this is the first time Theon’s been back in town since graduation.”

“Sorry I couldn’t come to the funeral,” Theon muttered. At least he didn’t have to try too hard to sound genuinely pathetic. “I wish I could have been there.”

Catelyn’s face remained a stone slab.

“We’re here,” Jon went on, “because Robb wanted him to have something.”

Catelyn folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the doorframe. “What did he want you to have?” she asked Theon.

“A book,” Theon answered with barely any hesitation.

“A book?”

“A yearbook. We worked on the yearbook together.”

“You want my son’s senior yearbook?”

“I mean…not to keep,” Jon quickly jumped it. He turned to Theon. “I guess the two of you were talking sometime before…uh…”

Theon forced an unconvincing smile. “Turned out he’d been going through his things and found out I never signed his yearbook.” He smacked himself on the forehead. “Stupid. Must have forgotten. I promised him I’d sign it when I saw him next.”

Catelyn’s face softened a bit. “I…suppose I could go get it for you. Would you like to sign the register as well, from the service?”

Theon nodded. “I would love to, if you’d allow it.”

Something like a smile came over Catelyn’s face. “Well, come on in then. I’ll see if I can dig it out for you. Most of his stuff is still in his room…” She choked on a sob, then gathered herself quickly. “Anyway, come in. Would you like anything? Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee would be nice,” Theon said as she stepped back to let them in. “I remember, Robb always took his with butter—”

“Instead of milk,” Catelyn finished with a chuckle.

Theon joined in, like it was some private joke between the two of them.

Jon raised his eyebrows in surprise. Was Robb here now, feeding Theon just the right lines to break through Catelyn’s barrier?

She had them sit down on the couch in the living room and bustled off to get Theon’s coffee. Theon kept looking around the room, in awe of the floor-to-ceiling windows, baroque chandeliers, marbled floors. “This…is where you grew up?” he breathed.

“Stark Manor, no place like home.” Jon stood. “I’ll go find the safe. Where did Robb say it was?”

Theon’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Your father’s old study. He says…the combination is Sansa’s name day.”

Jon nodded and took off at a brisk pace. Catelyn wouldn’t be too worried if she came back and he wasn’t there, though she wouldn’t be happy. He was confident he could find the safe and be back by then. He knew exactly where Ned’s study was, and he had a pretty good idea of where the safe was.

He made his way down the long hallway until he reached the turret room where Eddard Stark had often worked from home, large windows offering a scenic view of the Wolfwood down in the valley. It had largely been cleaned out since Ned’s death some years ago, but the portrait of Theon Stark, famous family ancestor, was still mounted above the oak desk.

Jon stared at it for a moment, thinking the name was a strikingly odd coincidence, before making his way over to it. The portrait was over six feet high, without the frame, so moving it was going to be a bit of a hassle. Still, when Jon took hold of the gold-leaf frame, it swung outwards with a little bit of effort. There were hinges on the inside, and beneath, an iron-plated safe.

Jon ran his hands along it, feeling for the combination lock. It was an old safe, perhaps as old as Stark Manor itself, and the construction would be incredible. Robb had been smart to hide his files here. Nothing but total demolition would get this sucker open. Lucky for him, he had the code, which he entered by rotating the numerals near the handle. Sansa’s name day. Jon knew all of his cousin-cum-adopted-siblings’ name days by heart. There was an audible click, and when he tried the handle, the safe swung open on heavy hinges.

There was a single briefcase inside, nothing else. Jon grabbed for it.

“Jon?”

He froze.

Slowly, briefcase in hand, he pulled back and turned to see Arya standing at the doorway. He hadn’t seen her in about a year, though he’d talked to her on the phone and online. She had to be around fifteen or sixteen now. She’d cut her hair short. It was a good look on her.

Her quick eyes took in the scene. “You clearing us out?” she asked with a wry smile.

Jon smiled back and closed the safe. “Just picking something up.”

“I never knew there was a vault back there.”

“Me neither.”

“How’d you find it?” She glanced over her shoulder. “Did your new friend tell you?”

“Met him, did you?”

“The guy on our sofa? Yeah. You always bring the weirdest people home.” She came up and wrapped her arms around him. He returned the hug. “I’ve missed you,” she said. “And Ghost. Say hi to him for me, okay?”

“Sure.”

She stepped back and eyed him up and down. “I heard about what happened with your work.” Her face became serious. “I can’t believe they let you go. You were just trying to tell everyone the truth.”

“Yeah?” Jon shrugged. “Guess nobody wanted to hear it.”

“It’s not fair,” Arya stated. She had always been a black and white person. Never any gray. “They made you take the fall for their mistake.”

Jon sighed and shifted the briefcase to his other hand. “It’s…a little more complicated than that.”

“No it’s not. _They_ should be the ones apologizing to _you_ for putting you in that situation. And then blowing your cover and fucking everything up.”

“Language,” Jon reminded her. He didn’t want to be caught with Arya speaking that way in front of Catelyn. She’d call him a bad influence, never mind that Arya had been saying worse since she was ten years old.

She shook her head. “I just don’t understand. Why don’t you go to the newspapers or something?”

“It’s not worth it.” Jon began from the office, and Arya followed after him. “I was in the wrong.”

“But you _weren’t_.”

“But I _was_ ,” he countered. “I don’t want to argue about it. I can’t stay long.”

“Are you leaving again? So soon?”

“I have work to do.”

She eyed the briefcase. “Yeah? What kind of work?”

They came out into the living room, where Catelyn had brought Theon his coffee and was now flipping through the yearbook. Sansa had also come to join in, and she sat with a cup of her own coffee balanced on her knees while Theon recounted fake stories of his friendship with Robb.

“Did you get it, Theon?” Jon asked. He wanted to get out of here before Catelyn realized that Theon wasn’t actually _in_ any of the yearbook photos.

Theon looked up, not understanding at first. “Yeah, got it.” He set his coffee down and made to stand.

“Oh, can’t you stay a little longer?” Sansa said. “I wanted to hear the end of the story.”

“Sorry, but I’ve got to get Theon to the bus station.” Jon nodded towards the door.

“What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” Catelyn asked.

“Oh…” Jon hefted the briefcase. “Just something I left last time I was here.” He shot a look to Arya and hoped she wouldn’t say anything.

She caught onto his look and scowled back, her face dark with suspicion. She followed the both of them to the door, Catelyn and Sansa trailing close behind. “Mom, Jon was just telling me he’s got a new job,” she said.

Jon choked and froze at the threshold of the door.

“Oh, that’s good to hear,” Catelyn replied noncommittally. “What are you doing these days, Jon?” Luckily, she didn’t sound like she really cared.

Jon scowled back at Arya. “I’ve found some low-level administrative work. You know, entry level sort of stuff. Nothing exciting, but it pays the bills.”

“Maybe you’ll show me where you work sometime.” Arya just wasn’t going to let this go.

“Maybe,” he answered through clenched teeth. “Next time you come up to visit me. I’ll tell you _all about_ it then.”

A tense moment passed between them, unnoticed by everyone else. Eventually, Arya released the tension from her shoulders and nodded. “I’d like that. But sooner rather than later.”

“It’s a deal.”

Jon clasped Theon’s shoulder and began leading him down the winding pathway of Stark Manor. He couldn’t wait to hail and cab and get out of here. They had barely taken a few steps when Theon suddenly froze and turned.

“I just thought I’d let you know,” he said, his voice faraway, “that the last time I spoke to Robb, he really wanted me to know how much his family meant to him. He kept going on about how proud he was of his little sisters and how strong his mother was.”

He paused to an awkward silence. Catelyn’s eyes had gone wide with bewilderment.

Theon shrugged. “I just thought you should know.”


	12. Now: Strangers in the Night

They caught the last train back to Mole’s Town. It was a two-hour ride, so Jon set the briefcase on his lap and tried to open the combination on the lock. Since the vault’s combination had been Sansa’s name day, he figured this must be one of the Stark children’s name days as well. He tried Arya first, and the locks snapped open at once.

Theon sat on the seat opposite him. It had been a risk to bring him out in public like this, but Jon just hadn’t felt right leaving him alone for half a day. He wasn’t quite sure if it was because he still didn’t completely trust Theon or if he was worried something would happen to his new charge while he was away.

“What’s inside?” Theon asked.

Besides, Jon had to remind himself, Theon had a stake in this too. If Jon could use Robb’s evidence and find the right person or people to take it to, then conceivably Theon wouldn’t have to hide out in his apartment anymore. He opened the lid and looked inside.

“A flash drive.”

“Nothing else?”

Jon rifled through the briefcase’s compartments, but there truly didn’t appear to be anything else in there. He took out the flash drive, an unassuming black thing, and held it between his fingers. “Is this what Robb meant for us to find?”

“He says yes,” Theon said with a pained look on his face.

“You must be tired after all the talking he’s done to you today.”

Theon nodded. “I can’t wait to get home and sleep.”

“Home?” Jon chuckled.

Theon looked up, stricken. “I mean…your home. Sorry.”

Jon waved him off. “It’s fine.” Then he had a thought. Where was “home” for Theon? “Hey, you mentioned earlier that you have a sister, right?”

“Asha.”

“Do you think maybe she’d like to know that you’re…?” _Okay_ didn’t seem like the right word. “Alive? She probably wondered what happened to you after you dropped off the face of the planet.”

Theon glanced out the window. His eyes moved back and forth as he watched the landscape pass by. He sat like that for several seconds. “I have no idea what they told her at the prison. I mean, I assume they told her I had died. She was probably a little relieved.”

“You shouldn’t say stuff like that.”

He shrugged. “I was always a burden to her, even when I was little. She basically had to raise me after my brothers died, but I always got the feeling I was holding her back.” He leaned his forehead against the window. His breath fogged the glass.

Jon studied him for a minute, the angle of his profile, the way he held his shoulders slightly slumped. It was easy to imagine him as a frightened little boy. Sometimes Jon hated his protective instincts.

“I know what it’s like to feel like a burden,” he said, dropping the flash drive into his pocket. “You just met my ‘mother.’”

Theon turned from the window.

“I don’t remember anything before I came to live with the Starks. My parents both died when I was a baby. I guess the dark-haired woman and light-haired man you were talking about the other day.”

There were pictures of them around Stark Manor; his biological mother had been Ned’s sister, after all. But he had always felt disconnected from the smiling faces in those photographs. They were not people who had ever been a part of his life, and yet they had somehow left a massive hole.

“What, um…?” He paused, wondering if this were an appropriate question. “What happens after we die? Do they ever tell you?”

“I don’t listen,” Theon answered. “I’ve never asked and I don’t want to know.”

“You’re not curious?”

“No. I’m afraid they’ll tell me that what the septons say is true, that there are seven hells and seven heavens and all that other bullshit in the Seven-Pointed Star. If it’s all true…I’m not headed for any sort of heaven after I die.”

Jon started to protest then thought better of it. He’d never put much stock in the Seven-Pointed Star, even though Catelyn made all the children go to sept once a week. He understood why it would be terrifying to someone like Theon. It was hard to remember, with the sad exterior, that Theon was not only a victim, but a criminal as well. The sort of person Jon would have detested just six months ago. Strange how things could turn so gray so quickly.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Theon napped with his cheek pressed against the window, and Jon let him. He looked exhausted and could use the rest. Every so often, Jon would feel for the flash drive in his pocket, making sure it was there. He wanted to know what was so important on it that it had cost Robb his life.

 

***

 

It was dark by the time they got back. Moths fluttered around the streetlights outside the apartment building; Jon shooed them away as he reached for his keys. “Poor Ghost,” Jon said as they entered through the lobby. “It’s way past his dinner time. And he’ll need to go out.”

He climbed the stairs to his apartment door, but stopped short, key in hand. Behind him, Theon froze. “What is it?”

Jon didn’t know how to respond, because for a moment he wasn’t standing outside the door but inside the apartment. He was also about three feet high, or else crouched down on the ground. He could hear and smell everything going on around him, and there was a scent here he did not like.

Jon blinked and came back to himself. Theon was staring at him with concern.

“There are two men in there,” Jon said with a conviction he couldn’t quite explain. “They’re waiting for us to return.”

Theon looked from him to the door. “How do you know that?”

“Stay here.” Jon pushed Theon gently to the side and, key in hand, approached the door once more. As quietly as he could, he unlocked the dead bolt and inched the door open. Ghost squeezed his way out through the opening, but instead of running down the stairs with the urgency of a dog who had not been let out for half the day, he stayed near Jon, growling low in his throat. That confirmed it. Jon slammed the door shut and locked the dead bolt. “Theon, run.”

He grabbed Theon’s hands and dragged him back down the stairs. Theon was a bit startled at first, but he caught on quickly and picked up his pace. Ghost followed at their heels. Behind them, the door handle jiggled and a voice hissed, “Damn!”

Whoever was in there would figure out how to work the lock soon enough, and Jon didn’t want to hang around to see their faces. He ran with Theon out through the lobby and onto the street, where he raised his arm to hail a passing cab. The cabbie gave him an annoyed look when Ghost hopped in the back with them.

“I’ll pay extra.” Jon tapped on the sliding glass pane to indicate the urgency of their situation. “Castle Avenue. Step on it.”

The cabbie shrugged but pulled into traffic, what little there was this time of night, just as the lobby doors swung outwards and two men dressed in black emerged. They yelled at the cab, waving their arms, and followed on foot for a second or two before seeing the futility.

Jon sank back against the torn-up faux leather seats with a relieved sigh. Theon, however, was shaking. “How did they find me?”

Jon had to agree with his assessment. The odds that this was a random break-in were pretty slim. Somehow, they’d been tracked down. He laughed at the stupid joke that came to mind. “They do have psychics working for them, don’t they?”

Theon didn’t laugh. “Petyr could have found me, if they put him in the chair. Or maybe they have someone who specializes in finding other psychics.” He looked over at Jon and Ghost, man and dog both out of breath and panting heavily. “How did you know they were in there?”

Jon shrugged. “I don’t know. I just had this strange feeling all of a sudden.”

“What sort of feeling?”

“Like…” Jon ran his hand through Ghost’s thick fur. “I wasn’t in my body.”

“Did you _sense_ them?” Theon pressed with an emphasis that left no doubt what he was asking.

“No,” Jon answered truthfully. “I…smelled them.”

Ghost laid his head in Jon’s lap.

“Has anything like that ever happened before?”

“Maybe?” Jon stroked Ghost’s back, and the dog moaned appreciatively. “Not when I was awake.” He remembered his dreams. Even though he’d never been into the Old Age stuff, he’d always felt like somehow, by sleeping so close to him, Ghost’s dreams were bleeding over into his own. It had always remained his own private little musing, though. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Theon’s eyes were pale in the intermittent light from the street. His face looked gaunt. He looked…well, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Nothing,” he said with a shake of his head, seemingly snapping out of it. “Just…tell me if it happens again, okay?”

That was disconcerting. “Yeah. Sure.”

Theon sighed and finally relaxed back against his seat. “Where are we going?”

Jon hadn’t really thought about it. He’d just given the cabbie the first address that had come to mind. Upon further reflection, it was probably their best bet, though he hated to drag anyone into this mess. Least of all a friend he promised he wouldn’t.

The cab turned left onto Castle Avenue.

“I guess we’re going to Sam’s.”


	13. Then: Ghost in the Shell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for non-graphic but bluntly referenced rape.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. And despite what the men in the white coats told him, it wasn’t making things clearer. It just made all the voices stream in at once and he couldn’t tell who was talking or what they were saying and _it hurt_. It felt like the chair was wiring the pain straight into his brain.

Still, they insisted on doing these tests, sometimes for hours on end. He’d already been sitting here for what felt like an eternity. No amount of begging would get them to stop or understand that what they were doing was. Not. _Helping_.

Faces flashed before him. Maron. Rodrik. The two Miller boys. Faces he didn’t recognize. Men, women, children. They all called out to him, wanted to tell him something or tell someone else on their behalf. Theon couldn’t keep them straight. It felt like the cacophony of voices was going to split his brain wide open.

Then, suddenly…nothing but whiteness and silence. No noise, no pain, no warmth or cold. He was floating above his body, weightless, barely even aware. What little thoughts he did have ran along these lines: _Am I dead? Is this heaven? Why am I in heaven?_

When he came back to himself and his thoughts became more solid, he awoke to find himself back on his hospital bed in his room. He couldn’t remember being unhooked from the chair and brought back. He wasn’t strapped in, either, like usual. Every limb in his body ached, and when he sat up, a red-hot pain shot through his ass. From the inside. Carefully, dreading what he would see, he lifted the thin blanket. At the first sign of hand-shaped bruises on his hips and legs, he pulled the blanket back down and curled into a fetal position.

What had happened? What had been _done_ to him while he was out?

The sound of the door opening alerted him to fact that he was no longer alone. He cringed with each footstep that drew nearer, but he would not turn around to see who it was.

“Theon Greyjoy.”

He had to turn over at that, just to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. He wasn’t. Roose Bolton was standing over him, grim-faced.

“Would you come with me?”

Theon trembled. “Do I have to?”

“I would prefer you came on your own,” Roose said. “I don’t see a reason why we need to involve Ramsay in this.”

Ramsay? Was he the one who’d…?

“No,” he answered, sitting up and drawing the blankets around his naked body. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll come peacefully.”

“Put this on.” Roose tossed him a hospital gown. “I’ll be waiting outside when you’re done.” Then, thankfully, he left.

Theon slid his arms through the gown and gingerly slid out of bed, trying his hardest not to look at whatever damage had been done to his body. He was relieved to see there was no blood on the sheets or mattress, and nothing came… _leaking out_ when he stood. Still, it hurt to walk, and he walked bow-leggedly to the door.

Roose was waiting for him outside. He said nothing, simply gave Theon a cursory glance before motioning for him to follow. He at least seemed to understand that Theon was in pain, because his pace was slow and steady, for which Theon was grateful. He was also grateful that they didn’t run into anyone in the hall. He would have died for anyone else to see him like this.

They came to a door marked “Security.” Roose pulled out a key and unlocked the door. Inside was security camera footage broadcast on an array of computer monitors. Theon was not surprised to learn that they’d been watching and taping everything. He saw one camera pointed at “the chair,” several different angles of the lounge, and half a dozen rooms, including his own. He didn’t like where this was going and shot a furtive look towards Roose.

“I have dismissed the guard for the moment,” Roose said, pulling out a rolling chair and indicating Theon should take a seat, “so that you and I might address this issue in private.”

There was little other choice. Theon sat, and Roose rolled him to the computer monitors. He tapped on the camera for Theon’s room and enlarged it to full view. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“I was…in the chair.”

Roose hmm’d, as if that were the answer he expected. “You suffered a seizure during testing today,” he explained. He had long, skeletal fingers that worked with careful efficiency as he brought up the database and browsed through the footage from the last twenty-four hours. “When you came out of it, you were awake and assured us you were well. Qyburn determined no damage had been done, and Ramsay was asked to escort you back to your room. You don’t remember any of that?”

“No.”

Finally, Roose found what he was looking for and hit play. “Watch this.”

Theon watched. The picture was in black and white, but fairly clear. He recognized himself being led into the room by Ramsay, even if he wasn’t used to seeing white hair instead of black. Ramsay was rough with him, shoving him up against the wall and pinning him. Theon looked to Roose, but there was no reaction.

The audio was fairly clear as well. “You had me worried for a while there, Reek,” Ramsay said, soft enough that it was distorted, like the hiss of a snake.

The voice that came out of Theon didn’t sound familiar at all. “Do you call this one Reek as well?” It came out as a high-pitched purr. “Am I so easy to replace?”

Ramsay’s back was turned towards the camera, but his entire frame went straight. He leaned in closer, cautious, examining Theon’s face without touching him. At last, he asked in a bewildered voice, “Who are you?”

Theon watched himself on the camera bring a hand up and run it along Ramsay’s face. “I’ve missed you, Ramsay.”

“Reek?”

A moment of stunned silence.

Then, Ramsay grabbed Theon’s face and brought him in for a savage kiss. And Theon, to his horror, reciprocated, hands tangling in Ramsay’s hair, drawing the two of them closer. Ramsay grabbed Theon’s hips and lifted him up, and Theon wrapped his legs around Ramsay’s middle as they made their way to the bed. For all the world, they looked like two lovers reunited after an eternity apart.

Ramsay threw Theon onto the bed and began stripping off his guard’s uniform. Theon unzipped the jumpsuit and began to squirm out of it, murmuring, “Tell me you didn’t forget about me.”

Ramsay laughed. “Better yet, I’ll _show_ you.”

Theon didn’t want to see anymore, and neither did Roose, judging by the man’s disgusted snort. He hit the stop button, just as Ramsay had climbed on the bed to join Theon. Or whoever had been wearing his body at the time. He couldn’t have felt more violated if Ramsay had simply bent him over and fucked him while he pleaded for mercy.

“You don’t remember any of that?” Roose asked.

His soft voice made Theon jump.

“I take it from your reaction that you do not.” Roose reached into his pocket, and before Theon could panic, he pulled out a pink handkerchief and gave it to him.

Theon took it with trembling hands. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been crying.

“It appears Qyburn has underestimated your abilities,” Roose went on, unheeding as Theon wiped the tears from his eyes. “It seems one of the…ghosts you made contact with was able to take over your body. No doubt this is due to the power-enhancing nature of the chair, but it will require further study.”

“No.” Theon gritted his teeth. “No, I don’t want…I won’t do it for you again.”

Roose’s face remained impassive. “And what makes you think you have a choice?”

“Your son raped me!” Theon yelled. “And that spirit…whatever…they used my body without asking me.”

“I will discipline Ramsay for the indiscretion.”

“ _Indiscretion_?” Theon felt all the anger, fear, uncertainty, and violation welling up within him. “You can’t do this to me! To us! We’re human beings, not lab rats. You can’t hold us here and play around with our minds and bodies and then leave us at the mercy of psychos like Ramsay. Who do you think you are? What right do you have?”

“My right,” Roose replied, “is that _you_ think this is a matter of rights. This is about more than you and your _feelings_ , Theon Greyjoy. This is about the power to change the course of history.”

Theon clenched his hands so tight that his nails broke through the thick skin on the palm of his hand. He would kill Roose Bolton right now, if he could. And Ramsay and Qyburn and Tywin Lannister. He’d kill them all, except even _then_ he wouldn’t really be free of them.


	14. Now: Castle Avenue

Sam yawned as he opened the door. “Jon? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“It’s nine o’clock. You weren’t in bed already, were you?”

“No,” Sam said indignantly. He pulled the sash of his terrycloth bathrobe tight. “I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.” He craned his neck to see over Jon’s shoulder. “Who’s with you?”

“A friend. Can we come in?”

To his credit, Sam didn’t hesitate. He opened the door for them. Ghost was the first in, going straight for Sam’s black sofa, which he loved and which Sam hated for him to be on. He complained that getting the fur off afterwards was impossible.

“Ghost,” Jon scolded, and to his surprise, the dog jumped down and came back to him.

“Have you been spending all your free time training him?” Sam laughed.

“Sam,” a voice called. Gilly poked her head out of the bedroom. She was only a little slip of a thing, and Sam’s nightshirt was like a circus tent on her. She blushed upon seeing they had company and ducked back in, coming out a moment later in her own robe. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.” Jon reached into his pocket and drew out Robb’s flash drive. “Can we borrow your computer?”

“Uh…sure.” Sam took the flash drive and sat down at his computer. He paused before sticking it in the USB port. “Before I do anything, can you tell me what’s going on? First you ask me to get you information on some seriously shady prison guard. Then you show up at my flat without a moment’s notice, and you have…” He trailed off.

“Oh, sorry.” Jon stepped back to introduce Theon. “This is Theon Greyjoy. He needs our help.” He wasn’t sure how much he could safely reveal to Sam, or how much of it Sam would believe. “I can vouch for him.”

Sam drew his brows together, but he had always trusted Jon too much for his own good. A twinge of guilt made itself known when he turned and stuck the flash drive in the computer. Was Jon putting his friend in danger by exposing him to all this? Of course he was, which was why he didn’t intend to stay a minute longer than it took to find out what was on Robb’s flash drive and figure out what to do with it.

“It’s encrypted,” Sam said.

Jon, Theon, and even Gilly came up behind Sam to watch over his shoulder. “Do you think you can get through?”

Sam snorted in mock offense. “Of course I can.” He typed out a line of code and a pop-up menu with several .avi files appeared, over a hundred. They were labeled with a long list of letters and numerals. Jon couldn’t make sense of any of them. “What is all this?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure. Can you play one?”

Sam clicked on the first file. A small box appeared with a black and white image of a woman strapped to a chair. Before her was a table with a single spoon laid out. There was a date at the bottom of the screen, along with the words “Test Subject: 0195.” A voice off-camera said, “Ready when you are.”

Something clicked, and the woman threw her head back with a howl of pain. The spoon twitched. Sam jumped in surprise, then sat deathly still as it lifted into the air and began curling in on itself, like a tube of toothpaste. The woman continued to scream, and then the table itself began to shake.

“Turn it off,” the voice behind the camera said. “Turn it off.”

The table flew upwards and smashed into the camera. Everything went dark. The .avi ended.

No one spoke for several seconds.

“Where did you get this?” Sam finally asked.

Jon didn’t know what to say.

“Is it trailer for one of those found-footage movies?” Gilly piped up.

“I don’t think so,” Sam answered. “Or if it is, they’ve chosen a very interesting lead actress.”

“You know her?”

“Of course, she’s Cersei Lannister.”

Stunned silence.

“I’m sorry.” Gilly raised her hand timidly. “Who’s Cersei Lannister?”

“A senator,” Jon answered. “She was impeached on charges of corruption and sent to prison for perjury and conspiracy.” Ned had been heavily involved in her trial, back when Jon was in high school. It had been in all the papers, how Senator Lannister has apparently been mismanaging funds, taking bribes, and even sabotaging her political rivals. After she’d been sent away, the furor had died down. Jon didn’t think he’d heard her name in years beyond a passing mention in the paper that she had committed suicide while in prison.

“So…not a movie actress?” Gilly hazarded.

“Jon.” Sam swiveled in his chair. “Where did you _get_ this?”

 

***

 

“Wow, that’s really, um…” Sam sipped nervously at his tea. When he set his cup down, it clicked against the saucer from his trembling hand. “That’s really quite a story.”

“You believe us?” Jon asked hopefully. It was a lot to take in, he knew. Luckily, Sam was a huge sci-fi nerd and knew the concepts well enough. He’d even admitted to Jon when he was new to the taskforce that he’d always hoped magic and the like was real.

“I believe you,” Gilly said. “There are all sorts of stories about the Old Gods and how people could do extraordinary things. Like tell the future or…” Her eyes flickered to Theon. “Speak with the dead.”

Jon hadn’t wanted to press Theon anymore, but Theon had volunteered to demonstrate his abilities. He’d contacted an old friend of theirs from the police force, Donal Noye, who’d been killed in the line of duty. Then he’d contacted one of Gilly’s sisters, who’d told a sad story about an abusive father and social services and both Theon and Gilly had been weeping by the end.

“What can we do to help?” she asked now. Jon had known her for almost as long as he’d known Sam, and he knew that even though it took her a while to build her courage up, when she decided on something, she’d go through with it. No matter what.

Which was why he had to tell them, “You’ve already done enough.” He ran a hand through his hair and thought about how he could really go for a hot shower about now. “I didn’t tell you all of this because I expected you to do anything. I told you because you deserve an explanation. Theon and I should move on before they track us down again.”

Theon startled in his seat. “I’m the one they’re looking for. If anyone should move on, it’s me. Not you.”

“Stop it, stop it,” Gilly said, closing her eyes as if in aggravation. “Nobody’s moving on.”

“But you’re in danger as long as I’m here,” Theon protested.

“You came to us for help,” Sam began, his voice quavering with mixed resolve and nervousness, “and we’re going to help you.”

“I can’t ask you—”

“I said to stop,” Gilly interrupted, holding up a hand. “I know a bit about needing help, so would you trust us already?”

Jon sat back in his seat with an obedient nod.

“Good.” Sam clapped his hands together at the finality of it. “That’s settled. Now, I have a few ideas on where we can take this evidence.”

Jon nodded for him to go on.

“There’s an officer down at the station—”

“No,” Jon and Theon said together. They looked at each other in surprise.

Sam held up his hand to stay their protests. “Hear me out. After you left, Thorne transferred in an officer and his partner from King’s Landing. The partner’s a straight arrow, but this guy…” Sam rocked his hand back and forth, demonstrating a shaky surface. “He has a rap.”

“Why should we trust a cop with a rap?”

Sam blinked. “Well…because he’s Cersei Lannister’s brother.”

Another moment of stunned silence during a night filled with them.

“Cersei Lannister’s brother is a cop for the KLPD?”

“Was,” Sam corrected. “Now he works up here. I think he might be interested to know what’s happening to his sister.”

“And his brother,” Theon spoke up. “Tyrion Lannister is being held at the men’s prison.” His brow bunched as he thought. “Are you sure he’ll care? Tywin Lannister is the one who put his son and daughter into this position in the first place. It might be that this cop doesn’t especially care what happens in the family.”

“Except,” Sam said with a knowing grin, “that he’s made several comments to the other officers about hating his father.”

“You think he might help us to spite his father?”

Sam gave a one-shouldered shrug. “If it were my father, I would.”

“Me too,” Theon agreed.

Jon sighed. “Think you can put me in touch with him, Sam? I’ll meet him and feel him out, see how much he already knows, if he’s willing to help. It would have to be soon, though.” He cast his eyes back at Theon. “You’re a wanted man, so we can’t bring you along, even if you _are_ our best evidence.”

There was an odd, faraway look on Theon’s face, and for a moment, as he opened his mouth to speak, Jon worried that someone else’s voice might come out. Instead, Theon said, “I’m tired.”

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” Sam said. “We only have the one guest room.”

“I can sleep on the couch,” Theon said tersely. The stiff leather squeaked with every little movement of his limbs.

“We can share a bed,” Jon suggested. His ears began to burn at the odd look everyone gave him. “I mean, no need to get multiple sets of sheets dirty. It’s a pretty big bed, isn’t it?”

“Queen-sized,” Sam answered, “for when my sisters come to visit. They like to share the bed. Say it feels like a slumber party that way.”

“Yes, a slumber party.” Jon stood and stretched out his limbs. Ghost hopped up from his spot near the window and came over, tail wagging. “I’m just trying to be less of a hindrance to you two.”

“Yes,” Theon repeated, also standing. “Whatever’s easiest.”


	15. Now: Running

It wasn’t as uncomfortable as Jon had imagined. The space between their two bodies was fine. Neither had to touch each other. It was almost like sharing the room in Stark Manor with Robb when they were growing up. He would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, emerging from some indefinable nightmare, only to be comforted by Robb’s steady breathing. It was strange how reassuring the presence of another human being could be, and Jon realized how much he’d missed it.

He missed Ygritte, that much went without saying. But he also missed her presence when they would lie in bed together, not talking, not touching. Of course, she’d been a nefarious space-stealer. She traveled in her sleep and would end up wrapped around him come morning. But sometimes he’d wake up with another nightmare and turn over to see her red hair in the glow of the moon between the shutters. And like with Robb, that was all he needed. To know there was another person there. That he wasn’t alone.

“This…is really soft,” Theon said, sighing into his mountain of pillows.

Jon couldn’t help but smile. It had only been, what, two days, and Theon already looked like a completely new person. His white hair gone, the dark circles under his eyes fading. He still had those sad, haunted eyes, though. Once again, Jon found himself trying to determine their color. They looked mostly gray in the dark.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” Theon said, almost in a whisper, as if he were afraid of disturbing the silence that had fallen between them.

“I was always a part of this,” Jon replied. “I just didn’t know it yet. I should be thanking you.”

“Don’t.”

Jon closed his mouth. He’d had this whole speech worked out about how losing Robb and then Ygritte had left him devoid of meaning and how Theon’s timely appearance had brought hope back into his life. How grateful he was to be able to reconnect with Robb and Ygritte and find closure with them. How Theon truly had a wonderful gift that could bring happiness to so many people.

He realized with that one sharp word, though, that it wasn’t what Theon wanted to hear. Constant headaches and seizures and being chased by a secret military organization weren’t a “gift.” And the “closure” he’d brought Jon had been bought at the price of his own suffering.

“She wants me to tell you something,” Theon said.

Jon lifted his head from the pillow.

“She says you know nothing, Jon Snow.”

 

***

 

Jon was dreaming.

He was at Sam’s house, lying on the sofa because it was so comfortable and smelled so good, when he heard a noise from the hallway. His head shot up and he saw someone emerge from the darkness. It was that skinny guy Jon had brought home the other day, the one who had been Robb for a while and then not. He supposed the guy was okay, nothing great, nothing special, but it was obvious Jon liked him.

He watched as the guy—Theon, right?—tiptoed across the floor and made for the front door. Theon froze, hand on the doorknob, when he saw him watching. Jon wagged his tail to show he was friendly. He didn’t mind if his master had picked a new mate.

Theon raised his hand in the universal “good dog” sign. “Stay,” he whispered.

Jon cocked his head.

“Good dog.” He turned the knob slowly. “Sorry for the trouble I caused you, mutt.” He began to open the door slowly. “I won’t be bothering you or your owner anymore.” He began to step through the door slowly.

No, something wasn’t right here. Jon got down off the couch.

Theon shooed him away. “Leave off,” he hissed.

Jon wasn’t sure what was going on, but Jon would know. He turned and ran down the hallway. The door to the bedroom was ajar, and he nudged it open with his nose. He saw and smelled his master asleep on the bed, completely unaware that his mate was sneaking off in the middle of the night. With a yip, Jon bounded onto the bed and began licking his master’s face.

Jon bolted upright to Ghost’s tongue in his mouth and nose. Sputtering, he pushed the dog away and wiped the drool from his mouth. He felt disoriented, something he first chalked up to finding himself in a strange room. Also, a strange dream he’d been having.

He came awake. That dream!

When he rolled over, the other side of the bed was empty, though still warm from Theon’s body. Maybe he’d just gone to the bathroom. Maybe he hadn’t. Jon threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. Ghost followed on his tail.

The door to the bathroom was open, spilling faint light from the nightlight. No sound came from within. Theon couldn’t be in there.

The front door, on the other hand, was unlocked when Jon tried it. He flung it open to find Theon mid-step on the lower landing leading down the street. Both froze.

Theon looked like a cornered animal, eyes wide, shoulders hunched. Then he was running down the stairs.

During his time as a cop, Jon had chased down many a fleeing suspect. Theon had no hope of outrunning him. He made quick work of the stairs by jumping three steps at a time and reached the bottom before Theon had even really gotten to the expanse of the parking lot. Jon tackled him with a flying leap, and together they went down on the pavement.

“Where are you going?”

“Let me go!” Theon squirmed under him, but Jon held him tight.

“Were you trying to run?”

“Please…you’re hurting me!”

Jon immediately backed off—yeah, he probably should have thought about that—but kept his hand on Theon’s wrist. He hauled the other man to his feet without much protest. “Why were you running?”

“I’m trying to spare you, okay?” Theon wouldn’t look at him but shot a hateful glance at Ghost. “Thanks a lot, mutt.”

Ghost wagged his tail.

“You need to stop,” Jon said. “I said I’d help you. And I meant it. If you truly want to leave, I’ll let you. But don’t you dare strike out on your own because you’re afraid of endangering me or something. I’m involved in this too. And even if Robb wasn’t a factor, it’s not like I’d just cut you loose like that.”

Sniffling, Theon turned to look at him. “You’ve already done so much to help me. More than I deserve. I don’t want…”

“Sh.” Jon reeled Theon in and enveloped him in a comforting hug. When Theon did not protest, he gave him a gentle pat on the back. “There’s no need for this, okay? I became a cop because I like helping people. And I like helping you.”

“I killed two boys.”

Jon went rigid.

“Hit and run. I didn’t even pull over. I’d been drinking because I got into another fight with my father. They gave me ten years for vehicular homicide. That’s how I ended up in prison in the first place.” Theon was mumbling all of this into Jon’s chest. “I told you, I know I’ve done wrong. I know I deserve what I’ve gotten. But I won’t go back there. And I won’t drag you or anyone else down with me. I’m done with that.”

Jon had to think about that for a moment, but he didn’t let Theon go. “I got my girlfriend killed.”

Theon went stiff in his arms.

“I was undercover, infiltrating a gang we suspected had been running weapons on the border. I guess I got a little carried away in my role, because the next thing I know, I’m in a relationship with this amazing redheaded gangster girl, and for some reason she thinks I’m just…amazing. Only…when she found out the truth…she wasn’t so happy.”

“I imagine.”

“I broke my cover to tell her. I knew the police had planned a raid on her gang’s headquarters. I didn’t want her there when it went down, but she said she needed to be with her gang if they were in trouble. I tried to get her to talk them into surrendering, but she wasn’t having any of it. I was the scum of the earth in her eyes. She was there when the raid happened.”

“She was killed?”

Jon’s hands tightened on Theon’s body, as if he could hold him close enough to protect him. “Everyone died. Every gang member who was in that warehouse was shot on sight, even though some of them came out with their hands up. Most of them were just kids who got caught up with the wrong crowd. Ygritte was shot from behind.”

“But not by you?”

“Does it matter? If she hadn’t trusted me, she would be alive now.”

Theon was silent some more, though he’d mostly gone limp in Jon’s grip. “Well…she did tell me she forgives you.”

Jon snorted into his hair. “You did wrong, Theon, but you did _not_ deserve what they did to you. And if you ever say something like that again, I’ll…I’ll sic Ghost on you.”

“That tattletale?” Theon rubbed the dog’s head as all three of them began back up the stairs. “You snitch,” he muttered under his breath.

Jon froze mid-step, remembering his dream. “You told me to tell you if anything…weird happened again.”

Theon stopped as well and turned to face him, a questioning look on his face.

“I had a dream that I was Ghost, and then I came to wake myself up. And when I did wake up, Ghost was there.” It sounded muddled and confused when he explained it that way. “I think I saw into Ghost’s head?”

Theon’s eyes widened. He grabbed Jon’s hand and yanked him along up the stairs to Sam’s front door. “Okay,” he said as he closed and locked the door behind them. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not leaving you.” He peered out through the peephole.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Or more like _What’s changed_?

“I don’t know how extensive, but you obviously have some sort of psychic ability.” Theon turned away from the peephole. “Some sort of _natural_ psychic ability. If you can put your mind into an animal’s…you’re potentially a keter-class psychic.”

“A what?”

“I’m just an espionage-class psychic.” Theon was wringing his hands now, pacing back and forth across Sam’s smooth polished wood floors. “I’m only good for information gathering. A weapon-class psychic can use offensive strikes to attack the enemy. But a keter-class…a keter-class can do both.”

“Is that bad or good?”

“Bad. Very bad. It means they’ll want you, too. Very, very badly.”


	16. Then: Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another cameo or two.
> 
> No specific warnings beyond references to past events.

Theon was losing large chunks of time whenever they put him in the chair. And sometimes when he wasn’t in the chair at all. He would often wake up in his bed or on the floor, unsure of who had been in his body. It got to the point where they were inducing so many seizures that even Dr. Qyburn was worried they’d inflict some permanent damage. Theon thought he would cry tears of gratitude when he ordered them to give him a week’s rest.

Even then, the voices followed him. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t concentrate on anything. Nothing except one thought: _I need to get out of here while there’s still some of my sanity left_.

“Sorry, I can’t help you,” Petyr said before Theon could even ask for help. “Even if you manage to escape, they’ll just track you down again. Tell him, Varys.”

“I’m afraid he’s correct,” Varys said. Neither of them had taken their eyes off the television. “All of your attempts are doomed to fail.”

“I can’t go on like this,” Theon argued. “I’ll die.”

“You’ll _wish_ you were dead,” Varys said, now with just a hint of sympathy in his voice. “But it will be worse if you try to escape.”

“How can it be worse than this?”

As one, both men swung their heads to look at him. They had the same stony gaze. “It can always get worse.”

The thing was, they were right. At the least, at the _very_ least, Roose had made good on his promise to discipline Ramsay and there had been no sign of the guard for a while. But Theon could see the warden holding that over him, a threat for if he stepped out of line. Because nobody here—not Dr. Qyburn, not any of the men and women in white coats, not Roose Bolton—cared that he’d been sexually assaulted and now even raped when he’d had one of his black-outs. It just drove home how little anyone here cared about his well-being. He truly was a lab rat, an animal for disposal whose basic safety didn’t even come into the equation.

Still, there had to be _someone_ out there who cared. Someone in the government or the press who would be disgusted to learn that Westerosi citizens were being treated this way. Theon became convinced that if he could just get the word out, this whole operation would be shut down.

There was a phone in Roose Bolton’s office. It was where the warden went to take calls. If Theon could get in there to make a call of his own, surely someone would send help.

He found an opportunity during another round of seemingly endless testing. It was one of those rare occasions where he didn’t blank out, so he was fully in control of himself as the guard led him back to his room. This new guard was monstrously tall and intimidating, but he was leagues above Ramsay. For one, he never spoke. For two, he seemed disgusted by Theon and avoided touching him at all costs. For three, he was not especially smart and was easily distracted. On this day, he was distracted by a guard passing the other way.

“Hey, Gregor, catch the game last night?”

“Mm,” the large guard replied.

“I hear Waters’s gonna be out for the rest of the season.”

“Mm.”

“Betcha they’re sorry they let you go now, eh?”

“Mm.”

While this monosyllabic back-and-forth continued, Theon made himself small against the wall and began to inch away unnoticed. Roose’s office was just around the corner from here. If he could get there and lock himself in, he’d be able to call for help. He prayed to the Drowned God, to the Old Gods, to the Seven that his luck would hold out.

For once the voices weren’t the loudest noise, but rather the rushing of blood in his ears. Surely the two guards could hear it. But they just continued talking—or, the one guard continued talking, the other continued mm’ing. Neither turned to look at him, even as he rounded the corner.

Some God was listening to him today, because the adjacent hall was empty and Theon made it to Roose’s office without being noticed. He tried the handle. It was locked. He heard someone speaking on the other side of the door, probably Roose with how he had to strain his ears just to hear what he was saying.

“—hoping to develop a weapon-class ability, but every attempt has resulted in the death of the patient.”

Silence. He was on the phone, then. Theon wouldn’t be able to hear what the person on the other end was saying.

“I am aware,” Roose said after a moment. “Trust me, we are continuing our research into that. But let me remind you that I have produced several high-level espionage-class subjects, all of whom have been immensely helpful to you.”

Another pause.

“I will.”

Another pause.

“Good. I will contact you with the results.”

Theon thought he heard the click of the phone as Roose hung up, but he definitely heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and footsteps. He pressed himself flat against the wall as the door opened outwards, a convenient cover. Roose stepped out, looked around without seeing Theon, and then began down the hallway. He disappeared around the corner before the door had closed, and Theon was able to grab hold of the handle to keep it open. Checking the hallway once more, he slipped inside and locked the door behind him.

Roose’s office was neat and sparse, pretty much what he’d expected from the man. The shiny black phone sat at the corner of his desk. Theon picked it up. There was no dial tone. He cursed. It was one of those lines where you had to dial _out_ first, and he didn’t know what number would do that. He tried a few at random, all to the same dead tone ringing back at him.

He didn’t have much time. Soon his guard would realize he’d snuck off, and after that, it would only take a few minutes to unlock the door from the outside. Theon drew in deep breaths to calm himself. Now was not the time to panic.

“Eighty-nine.”

Theon whirled at the sound of the voice so close to his ear. It was a young man with dark hair and eyes the color of Roose’s and Ramsay’s. He was wearing a prison guard’s uniform, and for a moment Theon panicked. The young man simply smiled and nodded towards the phone.

“Eighty-nine,” he repeated. “The number to dial out.”

Theon dialed with trembling hands. He could have cried when he heard the normal dial tone. When he turned around to thank the guard, the apparition was gone.

Quickly, he punched in the first number that came to mind. The phone rang several times before going to voicemail. “Asha Greyjoy. Leave a message. Unless this is Tristifer Botley. Then you can go fuck yourself.” Beep.

“Asha.” Theon steadied himself as his voice cracked. “It’s me…Theon. Look, I don’t have much time to talk, but they’re holding me under the prison. They’re…they did some sort of operation on me.” A small sob escaped his throat. “Please, Asha, you have to do something. You have to call for help. I don’t want to die here.”

He tried to explain everything until the line beeped, indicating his time was up. He set the phone in its cradle and fell to his knees on the floor. Was there anyone else he could call? He supposed not. He didn’t know any news station’s number, and the likelihood of the police responding was minimal. Maybe he could get back before his absence was noted and escape whatever inevitable punishment they would give him.

The hallway was still empty when he peered out from the door. That had to be a good sign. As he stepped out, though, he heard a gruff, “Hey, you!” He turned to see his mountain of a guard approaching from the far end, a furious look on his face.

Theon panicked.

He ran from the guard. The heavy clomp of footsteps followed him down the hall and around the corner. The man may be big, but he was also fast. Theon knew he couldn’t hope to outrun him, but he tried anyway. Because he’d always been stupid and unable to think ahead.

There was a door at the end of the hall. A bright red door with the words “Emergency Exit” marked across them. Theon’s heart swelled. He didn’t know where it led, just that it led out of here. It was his best shot.

Behind him, the guard was drawing closer, his breath like that of an enraged beast’s. The entire building seemed to shake every time his feet met the floor.

Theon flung himself at the door. His forearms pressed down on the release bar, and the door swung open easily on its hinges. Light came streaming in. Natural light, from the sun. His skin breathed it in, even as he kept going. There was grass and a sloping hill and a chain link fence about a hundred meters away. On the other side of the fence…who knew? Did it matter?

The short answer was no, because he’d never make it that far. In fact, Theon didn’t notice any of it. Not the sun or the grass or the possibility of freedom on the other side of the fence. Because he couldn’t see much beyond Ramsay’s grinning face waiting for him in the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the halfway point here. After that, it's all plot-related shenanigans, so I thought I'd ask people what they'd like to read:
> 
> A.) Plot shenanigans, get on with it.
> 
> or
> 
> B.) A few fluffy chapters between Theon and Jon before things blow up. I would need to take just a brief hiatus to write some cute, fluffy stuff, but the halfway point is the best place to insert new scenes.
> 
> Let me know what you want to see, and thanks for writing.


	17. Then: Capable Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am happy to announce that, due to overwhelming request, there will be fluff. Right after this short installment, after which fluff will definitely be needed. 
> 
> Warnings for all sorts of horrible stuff.

“Father,” Ramsay announced, dragging Theon behind him, “I was just on my lunch break out back by the old emergency escape and you’ll never guess who I found trying to sneak out.”

Roose looked up from the readouts Qyburn had been showing him. He did not look pleased at being interrupted. His eyes took in the scene quickly. “Why was the door unlocked?”

“Like I said, I was on my lunch break,” Ramsay answered defensively.

“And where was Gregor?”

“I dismissed him,” Ramsay said with a self-satisfied smile. “Seems he wasn’t doing too good a job at watching your subject.”

Theon hung limply in Ramsay’s grasp. It felt like he was having another one of his blackouts, one where he nominally knew what was going on around him but was unable to act. He’d seen freedom. It had been right there, over Ramsay’s shoulder. How was it possible he had come so close to escaping, only to have it snatched from him like this?

“I am very disappointed, Ghost,” Qyburn clucked. “After all the progress we’ve made together.”

Roose’s face remained impassive. He was about the same height as Theon, but still had to bend down to meet his gaze. “Perhaps you are more resourceful than I gave you credit for.”

Theon did not respond.

“Or perhaps my guards are just unusually inept.”

Again, Theon did not respond.

Roose stood to his full height and nodded to Ramsay. “Very well. I will leave his punishment up to you.”

Theon’s head snapped up. “What? No. You said you would—you know what he’ll do to me.”

Roose’s face never changed. Not a downward tilt of the lips or a twitch of the eyebrow. He simply regarded Theon with his cold eyes and said, “Then perhaps you will think twice before attempting any disobedience again.”

Theon sobbed the entire way back to his room, until Ramsay finally slammed him up against the wall and held a hand over his mouth. “Stop sniveling, Reek.” He kicked the door closed with his foot. Theon knew nobody would come to help him anyway, but his heart still wilted to hear the handle click shut. Ramsay was watching him with the same cold eyes Roose possessed, though Ramsay’s were tinged with glee. “Reek was never one for sniveling. You’re not Reek.”

He rammed his fist into Theon’s gut, knocking the wind from him. Theon fell, gasping, to his knees.

Ramsay paced around behind him. “No, you’re not Reek. You’re…Ghost.”

“No, I’m—”

Ramsay grasped his hair and yanked his head back. Theon’s hair was still fairly short, only an inch or two, and Ramsay’s fingers pulled at his scalp. He felt his eyes tearing in response.

“Do you think you could get the real Reek out to speak?”

Theon shook his head as best he was able.

“I bet you could.” Ramsay pulled Theon’s head back ever farther, then abruptly slammed his face forward into the concrete floor. Coppery pain erupted behind Theon’s eyes, and his vision became smeared with blood from his busted nose and lip. “Come on, get Reek out here.”

Theon spat a wad of blood from his mouth. “I don’t want him in my body.”

“What makes you think I care what you want, _Ghost_?” Ramsay lifted his head and slammed it again.

This time, when Theon spat, a tooth skittered across the floor. “Please,” he rasped, then remembered how much Ramsay hated that word. “I don’t know how.”

Ramsay released his grip and stood. “Well, I guess that’s too bad for you.” Theon couldn’t see but he could hear as Ramsay undid the zipper of his pants. “I’d much rather fuck Reek, but I guess I’ll be fucking Ghost instead.”

 

***

 

Asha never came for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be Saturday. See you then.


	18. Now: Per Request

“How long have you been a psychic Jon?” Sam asked.

Jon held up his menu, as if that could block out any prying ears. “We probably shouldn’t talk about this here.”

“Okay.” Sam went back to his own menu. A moment later, he glanced over the top of it. “So, how long have you been holding out on me?”

The diner was not that crowded. Today or any day. Everyone knew Three-Finger Hobbs’s had the worst food in town. In fact, only one other booth was filled, and none of the men nursing nine o’clock beers even looked up. Still, Jon didn’t want to talk about this in public. He didn’t want to talk about this at all.

“I didn’t even know about it until last night,” he hissed.

“Maybe you got it after coming into contact with Theon.” Sam set his menu down. “Here, let me see if it works for me.” He reached over and patted Theon’s head, like he was polishing it. “Do you take requests? I’ve always wanted to shoot lightning out of my fingertips.”

“Knock it off, Sam,” Gilly snapped from her seat across from him. “Don’t you think you’re being a little insensitive?”

Sam went pale and brought his hands back to himself. Jon knew Sam was just kidding and that he would never intentionally hurt another person—probably didn’t even have it in him—but the look on Theon’s face said he really didn’t want to talk about this either.

“So…we’re meeting with Jaime Lannister in two hours,” Jon said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “What are we going to tell him and what are we going to do if it all goes south?”

“We’ll be in the police station,” Sam answered, still looking a bit hurt. “If it goes south, there’s not much Lannister can do.”

“He could tell everyone that I’m harboring a wanted criminal.”

Sam went back to looking at his menu. He was silent until the server came to take their orders.

Theon ordered the all-you-can-eat breakfast special. Jon considered advising him against it, but then realized he must be ravenously hungry. He was still rail-thin; a few days of eating hadn’t changed that. If Theon was hungry enough to eat Hobbs’s cooking, Jon wouldn’t stand in his way. For his part, Jon just ordered coffee.

Breakfast was quiet. Theon ate and ate as everyone else watched. Porridge, pancakes, sausage links, buttered toast, he inhaled it all and began crying between bites. Fat tears leaked down his cheeks and landed on his plate, and he paused just long enough to wipe them away with his forearm. “Just like my mom used to make.”

_Greasy, tasteless, and lard-based?_ Jon thought but didn’t say.

“Your mom must have been quite the cook,” Gilly said diplomatically.

“Not really. But she tried.” Theon sniffled and shoveled another forkful of questionable meat into his mouth. “I really would like to see her again, and tell her that I’m alive and everything. But she’s better off thinking I’m dead. If I told her about everything that had happened…if I told her that I’d talked to Rodrik and Maron…she wouldn’t be able to handle it. Her health was never that good to begin with, and after my brothers died, she just kind of…checked out.”

“Maybe we should try to contact her,” Sam offered. Of course he would sympathize with Theon’s plight. He’d always been a self-confessed mama’s boy.

“No.” Theon shook his head. “It wouldn’t help her, and it wouldn’t help us.”

“Maybe when everything’s done with.” Jon had to stop himself reaching across the table and taking hold of Theon’s hand. “Your mother and your sister, both. I just can’t believe they wouldn’t want to know.”

Theon shook his head again. “Nobody misses me. Nobody from…before.” He gave a hiccupping laugh, devoid of all humor. “At least I know there’s _someone_ who still misses me.”

“Who?” Sam asked obliviously.

“Ramsay Snow?” Jon guessed.

Awkward silence. Of course Sam knew who Ramsay Snow was. He’d done all the dirt-digging on him.

“Sam,” Gilly announced, standing up, “why don’t you come with me to settle the tab?”

Sam looked up sharply in confusion. “What? You don’t need me for that.”

“I _said_ —” Gilly elbowed him in the side “— _come with me_.”

Sam’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, right. Because I have the card and…yeah.” He hurried to scoot out of the booth, with Gilly following close behind. Neither of them looked back as they headed for the cash register, but Jon could have kissed Gilly in that instant.

Once they were out of hearing range, Jon leaned in over the table. “I think you’re wrong about nobody missing you,” he began, “but even if you aren’t, I want you to know that there are still people who care about you. People who _don’t_ include Ramsay.”

“People like you?” Theon asked. It sounded bitter.

“Yeah. People like me.” Jon did reach over, then, and lay his hand on top of Theon’s. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to do it, but it felt right and Theon didn’t flinch back. In fact, Theon looked up and into Jon’s eyes, startled. “I like you, Theon. I like to think that under different circumstances, the two of us would have been friends anyway.”

“How can you say that? We’re nothing alike.” Theon still didn’t draw his hand back, though. “You’re kind and honorable and always doing the right thing. I…I was always selfish, always thinking only about myself and my self-pity.”

“Great. I’m self-pitying too.”

Theon smiled. It was shy and uncertain, but spoke of a boy who’d once smiled with ease. Jon wanted to make him smile more. “See what I mean?” Theon said with a small laugh. “Nice guy.” He looked to Sam and Gilly across the café, then to the other patrons in the other booth. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t agree to anything yet.” Theon stood. “I’ll tell you somewhere private.”

Jon was a bit startled but nodded and stood as well. They left their empty coffee mugs and the remains of Theon’s meal, now beginning to congeal into one solid mass, at the table. Theon took Jon’s hand and led him through the curtained-off corridor leading to the restrooms. His hand was as dry and thin as paper in Jon’s, and Jon didn’t squeeze too hard for fear of crumpling it. There was a single unisex bathroom right next to the kitchen. Theon opened the door and led Jon in.

Jon’s heart quickened. This was getting weird again, especially when Theon closed and locked the door behind them.

“I…hope I haven’t read you wrong,” he began, wringing his hands. He wouldn’t meet Jon’s eyes. “I just…wanted to ask a favor of you.”

“Ask away.”

“Could you maybe…kiss me?”

That took Jon by surprise. He uttered a strangled, “What?” before he could stop himself.

Theon grimaced. “I know. Straight-laced straight boy like you. And you don’t have to if you don’t want. The thing is…in my previous life, in my self-pitying days, I…well, to be frank, I spent most of my teen years getting drunk every night and going home with random strangers I picked up at bars.”

Jon didn’t say anything, but he nodded to show Theon he wasn’t judging.

Theon smiled self-deprecatingly. It wasn’t a good look on him. “There were so many one-night stands. I was trying to fuck away my daddy issues, and I’d say yes to anyone who showed any interest. Women, men. Young, old. Whatever. The thing is, even though I was using people and dropping them the next day, I liked the sense of being intimate with a person for just a few hours, even if I planned to never see them again.”

“Theon, I don’t think—”

“Please let me finish,” Theon begged, and he looked so pitiful that Jon closed his mouth tight. “After all that’s happened with the prison and the experiments and…Ramsay…” He trailed off and studied his shoes for several seconds. “I guess, I want to know if I can enjoy that sort of intimacy again. With someone I trust.”

“You trust me?” Jon hadn’t planned for that to be the first thing out of his mouth.

Theon nodded. “It is pathetic to say that you’ve treated me nicer in the last four days that most people have my entire life?”

It was. Not pathetic, maybe, but sad.

“I’m sorry,” Theon added hastily. “I didn’t mean to guilt you into anything.”

“No, not at all.” Jon rested his hands on Theon’s shoulders. “I can’t say I’m a great kisser. I lost my kissing virginity to Ygritte.” As well as the more traditional kind of virginity. “But…I mean, if you’re okay with it not being…romantic.”

“I am.”

“Then yes. I’ll kiss you.”

Jon put his fingers beneath Theon’s chin and ever so gently lifted his face. There was nervousness and uncertainty in his eyes, which looked bluer in this light, but there was also more than a hint of eagerness. Jon could see his pulse pounding in his throat.

Slowly, Jon closed the distance between them and joined their lips together. Open-mouthed, lips just slightly parted, no teeth, the way Ygritte had taught him. Theon’s lips were chapped and rough against his own, but enthusiastic. In fact, he was the first to prod into Jon’s mouth with his tongue, swiping along his bottom lip for permission, then past the barrier of his teeth when he got it.

Their tongues moved together, their lips moved together, a sort of give-and-take between the two of them. Theon’s hands cupped Jon’s face, but Jon was too nervous to put his hands anywhere on Theon’s body. Instead, he focused on the warmth of tongues and lips and very occasionally teeth, but that was his fault.

Theon was good. Gods, he was _really_ good at this. Jon locked his knees up to keep them from buckling. Now would _not_ be a good time to swoon. When they pulled away, he was embarrassed by the strand of saliva Theon drew from his mouth, connecting them until it finally broke. He hadn’t meant to be so sloppy. He’d meant to make it good for Theon, but instead he’d gotten caught up in how good it felt for himself.

Theon was flushed.

“Did, uh…did you like it?” Jon asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Theon was silent for a moment, catching his breath. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I think we might need to do it again.”


	19. Then: I’ve Always Been a Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last flashback chapter. Warnings for non-consensual touching, kissing, etc. and general dehumanization.

Ghost stood very still and looked the man in the eye just like Roose had said to do, with reverence and submission but never challenge. Never, ever challenge.

“Ghost,” Roose Bolton said gently, “do you remember Tywin Lannister?”

Ghost nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You’ve trained him,” Tywin said to Roose.

“He’s come quite far since his last demonstration.” To the untrained ear, Roose was even and calm, but Ghost could hear the pride in his voice. “Ghost, why don’t you show Mr. Lannister what you’ve learned?”

Again, Ghost nodded and stood straight to attention. “Who would you like to speak with?”

Roose inclined his head in disapproval.

It was such a subtle gesture, but Ghost cringed and quickly corrected himself. “With whom would you like to speak?”

“Better,” Roose muttered.

“He can do it on command now?” Tywin asked, skepticism in his voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” Roose reminded. He’d punish him later. Or have Ramsay do it.

Tywin contemplated the question. “I should like to speak with the warlord Khal Drogo. I have questions regarding his...wife and what she may be planning.”

Ghost hesitated.

Roose coughed gently, a warning.

“I can do it, sir, but—”

Roose coughed again. Ghost was speaking out of turn, but this was important.

“—but Drogo doesn’t speak Westerosi,” he finished. “You may not understand.”

“That is not your concern,” Roose said, but Tywin held out a hand to silence him.

“Can _you_ understand what he says?”

That was a direct question. Ghost could answer that. “Yes, sir. When they talk to me…in my head…it’s not Westerosi.” He was not articulate. How to explain? “I just know what they mean.”

“Enough,” Roose proclaimed. “Mr. Lannister wishes to see you channel a spirit. Channel Drogo, Ghost. We will have Brainchild standing by for translation.”

Ghost was a bit relieved, because now he could break eye contact with Tywin Lannister and instead focus on letting the spirit in. He couldn’t always control it, but he’d gotten better. He had to use the chair less. Now he could close his eyes, breathe in deeply, and blank his mind. It took only a minute or so, and then he was floating above his body, held by a tether he couldn’t see. There was nothing around him, nothing to see or hear or touch. It was beautiful. Always. He hoped death would be this way.

He was never very aware of himself during these blackouts, but today was different. It _felt_ different out here. He couldn’t explain, no better than he could explain how he understood what the ghosts were saying. It was almost as if he weren’t alone, like there was another presence beside him. A living one.

It felt like a young woman, for some reason. She was flitting about like a moth looking for a flame. Her presence came up beside him. “I never thought I’d find another.” She sounded frightened. “Did they put you here as well?”

He knew who she meant just from the way she said that. He nodded, even though he didn’t have a body, strictly speaking, but she seemed to know what that meant as well.

“I’ve been looking for someone to help me, but I suppose you can’t, can you?”

He shook his head. “I’m Ghost. I’m useless.”

“Don’t.” She sounded angrier now. Not angry at _him_ , but angry at _them_. “Don’t use the name they gave you. They call me Wayfarer, but I’m not Wayfarer. I’m Margaery Tyrell, and they can’t take our names away from us.”

“That’s the name they gave me.”

“How long have you been here?”

“A long time.”

“Long enough that you don’t remember your real name?”

He thought for a moment. “I’m Ghost,” he repeated.

“Gods, am I going to end up like this too?” Now she was sad.

Her being sad made Ghost sad, but he couldn’t do anything for her. He was useless. Ramsay said so. Ramsay said he was lucky Roose hadn’t decided to scrap him when he’d tried to run away.

“Please, I need to know there’s hope,” Margaery Tyrell said. “Tell me you remember your name.”

“I’m Ghost.”

“No, your real name!”

“My…real name?”

“The one you had before they…did whatever it is they did to us. You remember that, don’t you?”

Ghost tried to think. “I was…a bad person.” No, he didn’t want to think about that person.

“I don’t care. I just need to know that there’s some hope for me. I don’t want to forget my name.”

Ghost thought harder, even though it was ruining his peace. He wanted to be useful, after all, and if Margaery Tyrell could find a use for him in remembering his name, then he’d remember it. “The…on,” he said, in whatever not-language they were using. It came through nonetheless. “That was my name. Theon Greyjoy.”

Yes, that was right. Theon Greyjoy. Not Ghost. Not Reek.

He felt a tugging on his tether and knew Drogo had finished. “I need to go back now,” he said as he was jerked back.

“Thank you,” Margaery Tyrell said, her tiny voice disappearing back into the ether.

He woke up on the floor with Dr. Qyburn taking his pulse. “He’s coming around,” the doctor announced. “Vitals returning to normal.”

“Does that usually happen?” Tywin’s voice asked.

“Seizures are not uncommon,” Roose’s voice answered, “but no, there is usually no dangerous drop in vital signs. And as you can see, he is quick to recover.”

“Very well.” There was still a note of skepticism in the general’s voice. “Have this one readied for transport to the capitol. I’ll present him before the Council.”

Transport? They were taking him somewhere?

“That means I want him in _presentable_ condition.”

“Of course. It will be done. Ramsay, see that Ghost is escorted back to his room for some rest.”

Theon flinched instinctively as the footsteps drew nearer. He knew the exact tread of Ramsay’s boots, knew exactly how long it would take him to cross the room. Strong hands grabbed his arms and hauled him up. The blood rushed from his head and he staggered against Ramsay’s chest, quite involuntarily.

“Come along, Ghost,” Ramsay said.

They left Tywin and Roose to their whispered conversation.

“I heard you spoke without permission,” Ramsay noted, once they were in the solitude of the hallway and headed back to Theon’s room. “Twice. It seems someone hasn’t learned their lesson.”

Theon’s head was swimming. He felt impossibly weak and drained. He didn’t fight when Ramsay pushed him against the wall. He deserved a punishment for talking back.

But Ramsay didn’t hit him, or punch or kick him. Instead, he cupped Theon’s cheek and growled, “Father wants to take you away from me.” He caressed Theon’s face. “He wants to send you to the capitol, where I can’t follow. But I’m not going to let him do it.”

Theon remained very still as Ramsay ravished his mouth.

“He can’t take you away from me, Reek.” He drew back breathlessly, tailing fingers through Theon’s hair. “I won’t lose you again. Listen, tomorrow they’re going to put you in an armored truck to take you down south. But I’m going to arrange for there to be an accident. The truck is going to go off the road, and when the doors open, there will be a man you don’t recognize waiting for you. Go with him. He’ll bring you back to me. Understand?”

“I understand,” Theon said.

“You won’t try to run?”

“No,” Theon answered.

Ramsay kissed him gently and patted his cheek. “Good boy. I know I can trust you. You’re my Reek.” Another kiss, this time of the forehead. “You’re my Ghost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, a little plot, a little fluff.


	20. Now: MTPD

“You think they’ll be fine?” Jon asked nervously for the umpteenth time. He could tell he was beginning to annoy Sam by the little sigh he let out.

“Gilly has my gun,” he said, “and trust me, she knows how to use it. Better than me.”

That didn’t put the greatest of confidence into Jon. Sam was an office cop, one who’d barely gotten through his gun handling course. There were still bullet holes in the shooting range ceiling, a monument of sorts to new trainees: Never look over your shoulder while you’re firing.

“Besides, Ghost is with them.”

“I suppose.”

Sam smiled in obvious discomfort as he pulled his car into the station parking lot. He pushed his ID into the card reader, and as they waited for the gate to go up, he kept shooting nervous looks towards Jon. “Um…Jon, I’m not sure it’s really any of my business, and it’s not going to change anything either way, but…” The rail opened up enough and he drove through slowly. “What, exactly, is your relationship with this Theon guy?”

Funny, Jon had been wondering that exact same thing the entire drive here. His lips still tingled from the kisses. _Es_. As in more than one. He had never entertained the possibility that he might like kissing another man. From what all of his gay and lesbian friends had said, your orientation was just something you _knew_ , sometimes from an early age, and Jon had never been _attracted_ to men before. But, dammit, it was getting harder and harder to tell himself he wasn’t attracted to Theon.

“I mean,” Sam said after he didn’t respond for several minutes, “it doesn’t change anything, like I said, and Gods know I’m not going to _judge_ you or anything, but…” He pulled into his parking space and killed the engine. “Are you sure you’re…stable enough…emotionally…for a relationship right now?”

“I’m not in a relationship with Theon.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said quickly. “I thought maybe I was just imagining things at first, but then Gilly said she’d noticed too and she’s usually better at this sort thing than me. But if I’m wrong…” He sighed. “I thought I was imagining things with Ygritte at first too.”

“You never even met Ygritte.”

“No, but the way you talked about her all the time and the dreamy look you had on your face whenever I saw you. You weren’t…completely there. And it’s like that again. With this guy. You’re not completely here, Jon. And under other circumstances, I wouldn’t worry, but…” He shrugged and reached behind his seat for his work papers. “Maybe you should wait until this thing has been cleared up before you…move forward.”

“I’m not moving forward,” Jon said. “I kissed Theon, that’s all. Yes, I admit it, I kissed him at the diner. He asked for it.” He didn’t like the way that came out. “I mean, he literally asked for it. He came up to me and said, ‘Would you kiss me?’ It was just a favor. It didn’t _mean_ anything.”

“Jon.” Sam put the papers on his lap and looked Jon straight in the eyes. “I’ve known you for several years now. I like to think I know you. You are not the sort of person to kiss someone and say it meant nothing.”

Jon suddenly and deeply did not feel like talking about this. Not that he’d wanted to talk about it to begin with. He ran his hands through his hair again, trying to tame the mess. He was trembling like a schoolboy. He needed to get himself together to be a little presentable for the station. He couldn’t afford to look like he’d spent the last six months without showering or shaving, perhaps taking up a new hobby like cocaine in the process. None of this would help his case. “Let’s just get this over with, okay? I’m not sure we can even trust this Jaime guy.”

“Oh, Jaime’s a…Jaime’s a good guy,” Sam said with some hesitation.

They got out of the car and headed for the doors to the station.

Jon hadn’t stepped through this doorway in six months. He’d never planned on setting foot in this station again. The familiar sound of phones ringing off the hook, shoes squeaking on tiled floor, and general office rustle was comforting, disarming almost, like the rest of the world was still on-schedule. There had been a time when Jon had loved getting to work in the morning, eager to do what he could to make the world a safer place. This was the first time he’d ever come here in civilian clothing, and a few of the officers looked up as he and Sam made their way to his office.

A few of his old friends even greeted him, waving, asking casual questions about how he’d been and what he’d been doing with himself. Jon smiled politely but was glad when Sam closed his office door to all the noise and well-wishing.

“Looks like things haven’t changed around here.”

Sam shrugged and booted his computer up. “Business as usual, I guess. Thorne’s on the warpath.”

Jon grimaced. Sam had kept him abreast of developments in the police force, the most notable of which was Alliser Thorne’s promotion to chief. The man had had it out for Jon from day one, and it appeared he continued with this rivalry even after Jon had been dismissed, never passing up an opportunity to throw mud on the other’s reputation.

“Okay, let’s just get everything set up here now.” Sam cracked his knuckles and settled into his “command control” station. His desktop wallpaper was the spaceship from his favorite sci-fi show, the one he’d tried, unsuccessfully, to get Jon into a time or two. Sam did not have the most professional air about him, but he didn’t deal with the public very much, so no harm done.

There came a precursory knock and then the door opened. A blond man in a policeman’s uniform entered. Jon recognized him right away. He was the male officer who’d been chasing Theon when they first met. Immediately, he knew this was a mistake, especially when his partner, the tall woman, entered shortly after.

The man, Jaime, for his part, didn’t seem to recognize Jon, but the woman’s eyes widened when she saw him. “You were the man with the white dog,” she said, stepping past Jaime. “You intentionally let our perp get away, didn’t you?”

Sam looked from the woman to Jon to Jaime then back to Jon.

“I should arrest you,” the woman went on, “for obstructing justice.”

“Leave him be, Tarth.” Jaime held out a hand for her to reel it in. “We can’t blame the kid for our own failure.”

“But the perp’s still out there,” she shot back over her shoulder. “Anyone he hurts is going to be on this ‘kid’s’ hands.”

“Theon hasn’t hurt anyone,” Jon spoke up.

Both of them looked at him, as if surprised to see him still standing there.

“On a first-name basis with a convict?” Jaime asked with a wry grin.

This was the moment of truth. Jon would have to feel out how much they knew about what had been done to Theon. “What were you chasing him for anyway?”

“That’s not important,” the woman answered tersely. “You helped a felon escape the justice that was due to him. I really should arrest you.”

“Now, hold on a moment.” Jaime put himself between Jon and his partner. “Tarly, you told me this guy is an ex-cop. And he has something important to tell me. Specifically. I’m real interested to know what that might be.”

“Jaime,” the woman hissed in warning.

“Brienne,” he hissed back mockingly.

She sighed in disgust.

Jaime turned back to Jon with a cocky grin. “I suppose what you’ve got to tell me has to do with our little escaped convict.” He hooked his thumbs into the loops of his belt, close to the gun holstered at his side. Not an accident, probably. “I’m dying to know what’s so important that you would waltz into a station full of police when you’re in danger of getting arrested for a _very_ serious crime.”

Jon held his eye contact. This was a man who was used to playing off serious issues with mocking humor. He knew this kind of man.

“How’s your sister?” he asked.

Jaime’s face fell.

Then contorted in rage.

A split second later, he had Jon by the throat, pinning him against the wall. Sam and Brienne ran to pry him off, yelling. Brienne managed to pull him back, while Sam helped Jon back to his feet. When Jon regained his breath and looked up, there was fury burning in Jaime’s green eyes.

“You think you’re real funny?” Jaime spat. “You came back here just to mock me?”

“Mock you?”

“Like everyone else. Like I don’t get enough shit from my father when those pictures were printed. Because showing emotions as your own goddamned sister’s funeral is for mortal men, not Lannisters.”

“Jaime.” Brienne put a hand on his shoulder.

“You think your sister’s dead?” Jon choked.

“Killed herself in prison. But you know that.”

“No.” Jon waved Sam away. “No, she’s not dead.”

Jaime waved Brienne away, but didn’t make another attempt at Jon. “I don’t need to listen to this,” he muttered.

“No, it’s true,” Sam spoked up. “Cersei’s alive, and we have proof.”

“You have proof?” Jaime laughed, but when neither Sam nor Jon laughed back, his mirthless smile faded. “Is this the ‘important thing’ you needed to talk to me about?” There was a bit less skepticism in his voice this time.

“Sit down.” Sam offered his chair. “You need to see this.”


	21. Now: How It’s Made

“They’ll find us soon,” Theon said as Gilly set a plate of crackers on the coffee table and came to join him and Ghost on the couch. “If they really are using Petyr’s powers to hone in on me, they’ll be able to do it in faster and faster intervals now that they’ve found me once already. Last time we had…” He counted off on his fingers. “Forty-eight hours.”

“Hopefully Officer Lannister will want to help us.” Gilly picked up the remote control and turned the television on. “Let’s not worry about that right now. When I want to take my mind off of things, I usually watch the Science Network. It’s very soothing.”

She flipped to a channel where an episode of “How It’s Made” was covering Wildfire. A man with a steady voice narrated through the process, and Theon had to admit it was pretty mesmerizing to watch the repetitive motions of machines and pyromancers at work. Still, he could only keep his attention on it for a few minutes.

“Gilly.”

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

She must have heard the seriousness in his voice, because she turned the volume way down and turned to face him. “Sure.”

“You and Sam…I’m guessing you have sex?”

“Yes,” she answered levelly, not so much as a hint of a flush on her face.

“How did you…I mean, after everything your father did to you…how long did it take you to be able to...do that with someone again?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. That’s a really inappropriate question, isn’t it?”

Gilly frowned in thought. “You like Jon, don’t you?”

Theon wanted to hide under the blanket. “I was just asking in a general sort of way.”

“I know you and Jon kissed in the bathroom.” She giggled when he looked up in alarm. “Your lips were so swollen. And I have to admit, I suspected as much when Jon asked to share a bed with you.”

“No! We didn’t…nothing happened.”

“I know. But he wanted to be close to you. Jon’s protective by nature, but he’s especially protective of those he cares about.” She folded her hands in her lap. “So, how did that go? Sharing a bed?”

“I tried to run away in the middle of the night. Jon brought me back.”

“But how did the actual bed sharing go?”

“Fine.” Theon shrugged. “Good. _Well_ , I mean well,” he corrected quickly, expecting a slap for slipping up. But of course Gilly didn’t slap him. “It was nice, actually. But I don’t think I would have been comfortable with anyone besides Jon.”

Gilly nodded.

“But he’s straight and I’m a mess and I’m not sure what I’m even supposed to do with these feelings.”

“It probably is something that can wait,” Gilly said. “But when everything’s clear, you should ask him.”

“Ask him?”

“Yeah, just be honest with him. I’m not the best at romantic advice. Sam is the only real relationship I’ve ever had. But he was the first person I ever allowed myself to feel safe around, after everything that had happened. It seems to me you feel safe around Jon, so why not ask him if he’s interested back? Trust me, Jon will never make the first move.”

“But what if he says no?” Theon winced at sounding like such a petulant teen. He’d been rejected before, more times than he could count. But those had always been from potential one-night stands. Their rejection hadn’t _meant_ anything to him. “Or what if he says yes because he feels guilty.”

“Then tell him to be honest too. He’ll understand, after what happened with him and Ygritte. He won’t want to start another relationship based on lies.”

Theon drummed his fingers along the couch until Ghost nudged his hand. He began patting the dog’s head as he thought. “Only a couple days ago, I was _this_ close to forgetting my name, everyone had been calling me Ghost so much. And Ramsay…he, uh…he…”

“You don’t need to tell me what he did,” Gilly said. Her tone was kind, not in an I-don’t-want-to-hear-it way, but in an I-know-I’ve-been-there way.

“ _Days_ ago,” Theon continued. “Maybe not even a week. That’s…not enough distance. I shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about this sort of stuff. But I just…I have this feeling that…that we don’t have the longest time. I hope it’s just my paranoia, but every few minutes I keep thinking, _They’re going to show up. They’re going to drag me back there and try to convince me that this is all a dream_. Varys said that every escape attempt I make will end in failure, and he knows the future. So I…”

Silence. Gilly began scratching Ghost’s rump. He groaned and stretched out to give them both better access.

“I’m sorry I’m not very good at advice,” Gilly said. “In any case, there’s nothing to do until the guys get back. We’ll know then whether we have allies to help us with this thing. In the meantime…” She picked up the remote. “I like to keep my mind busy.”

Theon nodded.

She turned the volume up a little bit, then turned it back down.

“In answer to your question, Sam and I started getting intimate when we were both ready for it. It’s not the sort of thing just one person should decide for both.”

Then the volume was going back up. The segment about Wildfire was over and now the narrator had moved onto Valyrian Steel. Gilly reached for a handful of crackers and settled back in to pet Ghost. Theon did the same and tried to banish images of kissing Jon again.


	22. Here and Now

Jon got the feeling that Jaime was seldom silent. But he was silent now. They’d played over a dozen of the videos for him, some of Cersei, some of other young women. Jon had then explained everything as best he could, from finding Theon to learning about this conspiracy to being tracked down to his apartment. Jaime sat and listened to it all.

“This is…insane,” Brienne said.

“Insane as in you don’t believe us?” Sam asked with a wince.

“Insane as in I can’t believe this has been going on under our noses all this time.” She braced herself on the back of the rolling chair Jaime was seated at. “This is monstrous. If this is real…”

“If this is real,” Jaime finished in a low, dangerous voice, “then I will kill my father myself, if for no other reason than allowing me to believe my brother and sister were dead while he was…” He gestured to the still image on the computer screen, Cersei strapped into the chair. “Doing _this_ to them.”

Jon wished he would keep his voice down. He could already feel a headache building at the base of his skull.

“They’re alive,” Sam said. “At least, they were as of the time stamp on these files.”

“Which was over a year ago,” Brienne pointed out.

“Cersei’s been ‘dead’ for longer than that.” Jaime ran a hand along his face. His expression seemed to be racing to catch up with the emotions going on in his head. “Who did we bury? I was a pallbearer. There was definitely a body in there. The service was closed-casket. I should have asked, but her body but…I couldn’t… I should have asked to _see_ it.”

“You’ll help?” Jon asked. He could feel the headache making its way to his forehead and between his eyes. Had it always been painfully bright in Sam’s office?

“I’ll do more than help.” Jaime stood. “I’ll do whatever it takes to expose their little game.”

Jon breathed in relief. Finally, an ally that could _do_ something.

“We need to tell the chief,” Brienne stated, hands on her hips in resolution.

“Thorne’s a cunt,” Jaime said. “We’re not telling him.”

“We need to tell someone. The press, maybe.”

Jaime and Brienne bickered back and forth about whom they should tell and why. Jon was glad they were coming up with possible solutions, but their constant arguing was quickly making his headache worse. He excused himself from the room. Nobody stopped him. He was glad to close the door on their voices, but now the general office noises of the outside station, so comforting a few minutes ago, were assaulting his brain in their place.

The headache followed him into the men’s bathroom. It was quieter in there, at least. He was alone. He leaned over one of the sinks and splashed cold water in his face to try to chase the insistent throbbing away. He didn’t have time for a migraine. He hadn’t had a migraine in years, at least since he was in high school. When he looked up into the mirror, the eyes that looked back were hugely dilated, even under the harsh glow of the fluorescent lights overhead. That couldn’t be good.

He only had time to wonder if this was somehow connected to these psychic powers Theon seemed to think he had when he was flashing back to Sam’s apartment. He had his head on Theon’s lap while Gilly patted his back. They did that human thing where they stared at the box against the wall while it made noise. They’d been doing this for a while, and Jon couldn’t complain since they both liked to pet him while they did it.

But then he heard something outside, someone coming up the stairs. He bolted out of Theon’s lap and ran to the door, barking. It wasn’t Jon and it wasn’t Sam. It wasn’t someone who should be there at all. He barked and barked and growled. Gilly was at his side, trying to quiet him down, when the door burst open and three men dressed in dark clothes rushed in.

Gilly screamed and Theon shot up from the couch with a startled yelp. One of the men grabbed Gilly’s wrist. She screamed some more and hit at him with her free hand. Jon didn’t hesitate. He lunged at the man and bit him on the ankle, digging deep with his teeth to rend flesh. The man shrieked in pain and let go of Gilly. She ran for the bedroom.

Jon turned and saw that the other two men were wrestling Theon to the ground. Theon was crying and begging and trying to fight, but he was outnumbered and overpowered. His master would want him to protect his mate in his place, so he tackled the nearest man, latching onto his arm to drag him off his master’s mate. Then he began biting down, chomping until he could feel the bone underneath. The taste of human blood was bitter in his mouth, but still somehow satisfying.

The other man continued to hold Theon while the man in Jon’s grip kicked him, once, twice. Jon held on. He wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t let these men take his master’s mate. He wouldn’t let them hurt Sam’s mate. He wouldn’t…

A loud boom filled the air.

Everyone, Jon included, turned to see Gilly holding a gun in his shaking arms. Jon could smell the smoke from the barrel, and the blood from the third man. She’d hit him in the chest when he’d tried to follow her into the bedroom.

She lifted the gun and pointed it at the man holding Theon. “Get out.”

The man held up his hands and stepped away from Theon.

“Take your friend,” Gilly said, motioning with the gun to the man Jon was stilling holding onto, “and get. Out!”

Jon finally had to let the man go when he got to his feet. Together, he and his friend went towards the door, now both with their hands up. They smelled like fear. Good. They should be afraid.

Once they were outside, Gilly closed the door. Theon helped her move one of the bookcases to barricade the entrance. “I need to call Sam,” Gilly said and rushed for the phone. She began dialing, and then Jon was snapping back into his body.

His human body.

He opened his eyes to total darkness.

A sort of rough fabric brushed against his face and rustled when he moved. He tried to bring his hands up to feel what it was, but he couldn’t. His hands were cuffed behind his back. There seemed to be a bag over his head. And the surface under him was cold and hard, but didn’t feel like bathroom tile. By all rights, that’s where he should have woken up, right? On the bathroom floor. Then why did the floor feel like it was bouncing, like a vehicle along an unpaved road?


	23. Here and There

“Gilly! Gilly, open up. It’s me. Sam.”

“Prove it!” Gilly shouted through the door. She still held the gun in her hands, even if they were shaking too much to aim properly.

“Gi~lly,” Sam whined.

Gilly dropped the gun, and Theon helped her move the bookcase out of the way. It was, indeed, Sam, accompanied by two officers. Theon recognized them and lunged for Gilly’s gun. His aim wouldn’t be much better than Gilly’s with how he was trembling, and the female cop drew her gun with a lightning fast precision that suggested she knew how to shoot it.

“Put that down,” Sam ordered, though it wasn’t clear who he was ordering.

“I’m not going back,” Theon said.

“Then it’s a good thing we’re not here to take you back,” the male cop said, stepping through the doorway and completely ignoring Theon’s gun. “Nice dye job, by the way.”

“Theon, this is Jaime Lannister. He’s here to help.”

“I don’t trust you. You killed a man named Aerys Targaryen,” Theon said. “You shot him while his back was turned.”

Jaime Lannister grimaced. “Did he tell you that?”

“He did.” Theon lowered the gun. “He…doesn’t sound completely reliable, though. They lie, sometimes, or just tell what they remember.”

Sam rushed in and grabbed the gun from Theon’s unprotesting hands. The female cop stepped inside and swept the room with her own gun before holstering it. Her eyes went immediately for the dead man, and she knelt down to take his pulse. She wouldn’t find one.

“It was self-defense,” Gilly said.

“From the damage done to your door, I believe you,” Jaime noted.

“So do I,” the woman agreed, standing to her full height. She towered over everyone there.

Sam and Gilly were hugging each other, both crying onto the other’s shoulder. “I came as soon as I got your call,” he was murmuring into her hair. “Even though…”

Theon didn’t like the way he trailed off. “Where’s Jon?”

Sam broke free from Gilly. “We don’t know,” he said with a defeated sigh. “He left to go to the bathroom and…didn’t come back. We looked for him as best we could, given the emergency, but...” He shrugged apologetically. “It’s like he’s just disappeared.”

Theon felt his guts coiling. “Would he…do that? Wander off and not come back?”

“I tried his cellphone. We found it ringing in the bathroom. But no Jon.”

“They have him.”

“We don’t know that.”

But Theon did know it. It wasn’t exactly a psychic premonition, more like a gut instinct, but he knew it all the same. They’d tracked Jon down and waited until he was alone to snatch him. Where was he now? Being held at Bolton Penitentiary or on his way down to King’s Landing as they spoke? Theon hoped it was the latter, because then Jon would never have to meet Ramsay. But God, what were they doing to him?

The two cops were just standing there, arguing with each other. “You have to find him.” Theon pushed his way between them. “You have to get him back.”

“Me?” Jaime balked. “Why do I have to get your boyfriend back?”

Theon ignored that. “Because _your_ father is the one who took him.”

The cop’s face darkened. “Oh, trust me.” He squared his shoulders. “There is a reckoning coming for Tywin Lannister.”

Theon was ready to pull his hair out by the roots. “It’s not fair. They probably wouldn’t even know about Jon if he hadn’t been the first one to find me. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“No, trust _me_.” Sam finally let go of Gilly, though he looked uncertain whether he should touch Theon or not. In the end, Theon was glad he kept his hands to himself and his comforting strictly vocal. “Jon’s my best friend, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he’s safe. But right now, we don’t know for sure where he is, and there’s a very real possibility of the men who attacked you coming back with reinforcements.” The serious look on his face might have been comical if the situation weren’t so…serious. “We should probably be out of here by now.”

The woman cop stepped forward. “I’ll take the civilians down to the station for safe keeping.”

“No,” Sam and Theon said as one.

“Bad idea,” Sam continued. “We still don’t know if we can trust the police.”

“And Alliser Thorne is a cunt,” Jaime spoke up. “Remember that?”

“And,” Theon added, “they can track me. I’ll be endangering whoever I’m with.” Always a burden. Always, always a burden.

“Then we’ll take you where they least expect,” Jaime said. Then waited for someone to ask what he meant. Nobody did. They all stared at him in confusion. He rolled his eyes. “Right back to the prison,” he sighed, as if it were obvious. “I say we screw all this cloak and dagger shit, trying to figure out who’s on our side or not. I’ll tell you who’s on our side—more than a dozen angry, powerful psychics who would probably kill for the chance at the some payback.” He cracked his knuckles and set his hand on the holster at his hip. “I say we make a jailbreak.”

 

***

 

Jon had no idea where he was. Well, he had some idea. The truck hadn’t driven for more than twenty minutes, so he guessed they were taking him to the prison complex on the hill outside of town. Two guards dragged him out of the back, still cuffed and hooded, and led him on a staggering hike that seemed to go on forever. Up and down stairs, around corners, long stretches of nothing but their footsteps echoing off closed-in walls. It was like a rat’s maze. And all the while, nobody spoke.

Finally, Jon heard other voices, muffled at first and then clearer when he heard the click of someone opening a door. The voices stopped once the guards dragged him into the room and set his feet on the floor. He didn’t have any time to gather his bearings before the hood was yanked off his head and his vision was flooded with painful light.

He was in a brightly lit room full of people in white lab coats. It was just what he’d been imagining when Theon had described it. A man in a black tailored business suit stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his hair slicked back so tightly you could see the shape of his skull. He had disconcertingly pale blue eyes that bored into Jon and straight through him.

“This is the rogue psychic you picked up, Mockingbird?” he asked, turning to the shorter man at his side.

The shorter man was dressed in an orange prisoner’s jumpsuit. His hair looked like it was normally well-groomed but he hadn’t had time to fix it this morning before rolling out of bed. It was matted with sweat, and he had dark circles under his eyes, very reminiscent of Theon’s. He nodded. “That’s him,” he said in a raspy voice. “That’s Jon Snow.”

“And _you’re_ Petyr,” Jon said, much to the man’s surprise. “And I take it _you’re_ Roose Bolton?”

The pale-eyed man inclined his head. “I see you’ve been speaking with our Ghost.” To the guards, “You were not able to recover him?”

The guard on Jon’s right shrugged. “We haven’t heard in from the other team yet.”

Good. That was good. It meant Theon and Gilly were still safe. He hoped Sam didn’t waste too much time at the police station looking around for him. He needed to get back to the apartment and get those two somewhere safe. Although, where was “safe” when you could be tracked literally anywhere you went?

Roose raised his hand to acknowledge the guard and stepped forward to inspect Jon. “You’re not one of mine,” he said, cold eyes sweeping Jon’s face. “Where did you get your abilities?”

“Born lucky?” Jon replied with a bitter laugh.

He flinched when Roose combed bony hands through his hair. It was just so weird and oddly violating to have a stranger’s hands running through his locks like that. That was something Ygritte used to do when she was teasing him that his hair made him as pretty as a girl. That was not something a middle-aged man he’d never met before should be doing. Nails racked across his skull, feeling every inch.

“I’m inclined to believe you’re telling the truth,” Roose said, without tone and without expression. “I feel no scars on your head.”

Jon wrenched his head away and spat into Roose’s face. It didn’t seem to faze the man at all. “You murdered my cousin.”

Roose reached into the breast pocket of his suit and pulled out a pale pink tissue. He wiped the spittle from his cheek and sniffed in what might have been indignation. “Did I?”

“Robb Stark.”

A faint glint of recognition sparked in Roose’s eyes. “He was your cousin? I see troublemaking runs in the family.”

Jon lunged at him but was hauled back by the guards. He wouldn’t have been able to do anything anyway. His hands were still cuffed behind his back. “If I could, I would kill you right now,” he said, because Roose Bolton needed to know that.

“I run a prison of highly violent criminals,” Roose stated impassively. “You must be delusional to think I’d be intimidated by the likes of you, boy.” He took a step back and gestured to a team of men and women in medical scrubs. “If you feel I owe you an explanation after your examination, we will discuss the matter of your cousin further. But for right now…”

Jon fought back as the guards dragged him forward. One of the doctors hurried over with a syringe. Jon felt the prick, and then the muscle relaxant took hold. He struggled to keep fighting, then struggled to keep conscious. They’d given him something powerful. His vision blurred and his body went limp. He was vaguely aware of the guards hauling him up onto a gurney. The lights overhead were bright and fuzzy. Then someone was removing his shoes.

He didn’t remember any more.


	24. Here: Lingering Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments and kudos. :) I will never stop using dorky emoticons. Never!

Theon couldn’t sleep. He was terrified of Jaime’s plan. It wouldn’t work. It _couldn’t_ work. Someone was probably going to get killed. Theon was definitely going back to prison.

Beside him on the bed, Ghost groaned and rolled over. They’d found the seediest little motel that allowed pets in the rooms. It hadn’t felt right to leave him behind. Theon absentmindedly ran his fingers through the dog’s fur, and Ghost’s tail thumped against the hard-as-rock mattress. It seemed he was warming up to Theon, right when he shouldn’t be.

On the next bed over, Jaime had passed out fifteen minutes into their on-demand movie. He didn’t stir when there was a soft knock at the door. Theon flicked the television off—he hadn’t been paying attention to the movie, had been unable to—and padded to the door to peer out through the peephole.

It was the woman cop, Brienne. He opened the door a crack and whispered, “Sorry, your partner’s asleep.”

“Actually…” Her freckled cheeks were slightly flushed. “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment.”

That took Theon by surprise. He unlocked the door to fully open it and slip out. Ghost heard the slide of the chain in the lock and bolted awake. He bounded off the bed and followed Theon out onto the landing. Theon let him. He shut the door gently behind him so as not to wake Jaime.

Brienne stared at him in a way that was unnerving. From what he’d gathered, she was a pretty by-the-books type of cop. Perhaps she’d come to confront him about the two boys he’d killed, the crime that had sent him into lock-up in the first place. She seemed like the sort of person who wouldn’t just overlook something like that.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Have you seen…in your visions or whatever…a man with black hair and blue eyes?”

That…wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

“You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

“His name is Renly Baratheon.”

Theon rocked back and forth on his heels, thinking. “Is he someone close to you?”

Her face went redder at that. “Not exactly, I just…”

“You don’t have many dead people hanging around you,” Theon answered truthfully. “That’s how I see them, usually, if they don’t seek me out. They kind of…cling to people who were important to them in life.”

Her eyes widened as she understood what he was saying. Then her shoulders slumped. “I suppose I should have guessed that.”

“It’s not a good thing,” he said quickly. “All the ghosts I’ve seen have been plagued with regret or anger. If you really cared for this Renly, you would be glad to know that, wherever he is, he has no lingering doubts with you.” He glanced at his peripheral vision, where the Miller boys were usually standing, staring at him. “You’re lucky you don’t have any ghosts.”

At his side, Ghost yipped.

Theon had never been a big dog person, especially big dogs. He’d been bitten by a neighbor’s Rottweiler when he was little and had always carried around a certain apprehension of them. But Ghost was pretty unobtrusive, as far as four-legged animals went, and Theon had to admit that a certain understanding had settled between them. An understanding that they both owed Jon for helping and taking care of them.

Ghost yipped again and tugged on Theon’s sleeve. Theon recoiled, startled by the animal’s sudden insistence, but Ghost held on tight. Brienne stepped forward to pry him off.

“No, wait,” Theon said. He stopped trying to pull his sleeve free from Ghost’s mouth. Ghost relaxed as well, released his hold, and began licking Theon’s hand. Trying to get his attention. “Jon?”

The dog threw his head back and howled.

Brienne froze where she was. “Is he in the dog? Now?” She didn’t sound like she believed what had just come out of her mouth.

“I think so.” Theon knelt down to be on eye level with Ghost, although childhood fear said this creature would tear his face off if given such an opportunity. They weren’t dog’s eyes that looked back at him. There was something distinctly human about them, something distinctly Jon. “Uh…bark twice if you’re in there, Jon.”

Ghost barked once. Then again.

Theon wrapped his arms around Ghost’s neck and buried his face in the soft, warm fur. _So soft_. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

Ghost licked his ear. Then turned away and looked around, probably trying to get his bearings. He could take in the seedy motel and its parking lot, the hookers and drug dealers hanging out in the glow of busted streetlamps, the sound of police sirens in the distance—he would be able to take all this in and know they were no longer in Mole’s Town but some big city farther south. It had been a ten-hour drive in Jaime’s car.

“I know,” Theon said, feeling stupid for talking to a dog, “we’re headed in the wrong direction, aren’t we?”

Ghost nodded as well as a dog could.

“At least we know where they’re keeping him now,” Brienne observed.

“Back at the prison,” Theon affirmed. “Jaime was right. Roose Bolton probably hasn’t told Tywin about my escape. If he’s keeping that under wraps, he’ll want to keep Jon under wraps too. Until he can come up with a good explanation.”

It had all seemed like wild conjecture when Jaime had said it, and when Sam had voiced doubts, Jaime’s reply had been, “Trust me, nobody wants to admit to my father that they screwed up.” Even Roose Bolton, it appeared. Which meant that Jaime’s plan might work yet. _Might_.

“We’ve got a plan for getting you out,” Theon said. “God, I hate to tell you to trust me but…”

Ghost licked his face.

Theon felt tears form and forced them back. Now was not the time for weakness. If not for his own sake, then for Jon’s at least. “How…how are they treating you there? Are you…okay?”

Ghost shook his head.

Theon didn’t want to know, but he could imagine. “I’m sorry,” he said again, softly. “I know what it feels like to be abandoned, but I’m not abandoning you. I’m going to get you out of there, okay? I promise.” He almost laughed at that. What good was a promise from Theon Greyjoy? Jon hadn’t even known him that long and he probably already knew Theon was full of shit. _Useless_.

Ghost licked the tears that had started trailing down his cheek.


	25. Here: A Favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update today in case my power goes out. TT_TT

Tywin Lannister did not look pleased at being summoned. He had obviously been interrupted in the middle of something because he was straightening the epaulettes on his uniform as he entered the interrogation room. His eyes went first to Jaime, then to Theon seated in the chair, cuffed hand and foot. Theon’s old training overcame him. _Look him in the eye. Be respectful. Be submissive_.

“I was expecting you some days ago,” Tywin said to Theon, “though not with _you_.” His eyes flickered back to Jaime, who was leaning against the one-way mirror with a smug look on his face.

“Actually, I asked Bolton for the honor.”

Tywin’s face gave nothing away.

“I’m hurt that you’ve been keeping all this from me, Father. It’s almost like you don’t trust me.”

“You’ve given me no reason to trust you,” Tywin said coolly.

“But don’t you see, this is my chance.” Jaime pushed off from the wall and came to stand at the table. “When I found out about…this—” He gestured vaguely to the room, the facility “—I wanted in. I wanted to make it up to you, that little…indiscretion that happened with the KLPD.” He put a hand over his chest, the very picture of sincerity. “Basically, I’m ready to step up and embrace my full potential.”

Tywin looked from him to Theon. “Tell me what you know.”

Jaime spread his arms wide. “What’s to tell?”

“How did you find out about this?” He nodded subtly towards Theon, who was doing a remarkable job of being otherwise silent and unseen, if he did say so himself.

Jaime feigned surprise. “I suppose Bolton didn’t tell you then, did he?” He shook his head as if in disappointment. “Not that I blame him. I wouldn’t be the one to tell you one of the inmates had escaped under my watch.”

“Escaped?”

“Bolton put the word out to the local police that there was a dangerous criminal on the loose. It just so happened that me and my partner, Brienne, found him first.” Jaime made a cuckoo-clock motion towards his temple. “He was crazy when we caught him, out of his mind. Talking about seeing dead people. Brienne thought we should take him to the psych ward, but Bolton had said to ignore anything the perp might say. I put the call into Bolton myself, per his request. He wanted it very hush-hush, so I asked questions.”

“And he told you?” Again, if Theon had not known men like Roose and Tywin so well, he would not have picked up on the note of incredulity in the general’s voice.

Jaime shrugged. “Maybe Bolton saw the potential in me that you’ve never admitted is there.”

_Don’t antagonize him_! Theon screamed in his mind. _Be respectful. Be submissive_. He kept silent.

“He sent me to escort your subject here,” Jaime nodded vaguely towards Theon, “to bring me onboard.”

“He should not be bringing anyone ‘onboard’ without my permission.”

“Well…” Jaime gave an apologetic shrug. “I might have asked him to do it in exchange for not telling you about the whole…escaped psychic thing.” He lowered his voice and whispered, “Incidentally, _I_ didn’t mention it, if you talk to ol’ Roosey again,” as if they weren’t the only ones in the room.

Tywin rolled his eyes, the sort of eye-rolling that said, “I can’t believe I’ve surrounded myself with these idiots.”

“I see,” he sighed. “So, you’re prepared to commit yourself fully to this project?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Jaime replied with a mock salute.

“And what of your _other_ job?”

Jaime scoffed. “I’ll thank you to take that off my hands.”

Tywin was quiet for so long that Theon worried he was going to deny the request. They had a back-up plan for that eventuality, but Theon did not favor it. He did not like the thought of being on his own again, surrounded by doctors with their medical instruments. In fact, he could feel himself start to hyperventilate right now.

At last, Tywin said, “You’ll have one chance to impress me, Jaime. You do _not_ want to know what I will do if you fail.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Another mock salute, but Jaime wasn’t as good at disguising his emotions as his father. He was genuinely rattled by the general’s words. Perhaps to compensate, he grabbed Theon’s upper arm harder than was strictly necessary. Theon winced, but he’d been handled by rougher guards. “What do you want me to do with him?”

Tywin dismissed him with a wave. “Actually, I need a word with our subject…alone, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Jaime released Theon’s arm. “Are you sure you don’t—?”

“You may remain outside the door until we are through. Then I will show you the facilities. Until then…” He nodded towards the door.

Without looking at Theon, Jaime nodded back and walked stiffly towards the door on the far end of the room. A guard on the outside unlocked the door to allow him out and locked it after he’d left. The room became quiet and airless with just the two of them, Theon at the table and Tywin across from him. Theon breathed in through his nose to keep himself calm. _Look him in the eyes. Be respectful. Be submissive_. _Don’t speak unless spoken to_.

Tywin sat down in the opposite chair and folded his hands on the table. “Ghost, was it?”

Theon nodded.

“Is Jaime’s account of things true? You escaped?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. There was an accident during transport and I—”

Tywin held up a silencing hand. “May I ask a favor of you, Ghost?”

Theon was taken aback by the sudden change in subject. “A favor?”

“In the strictest sense.” Tywin straightened his shoulders. “You are not obligated to grant it and you will not be punished for declining.”

That was unexpected. And a little worrying.

“What do you want?”

“I want,” Tywin said slowly, “to speak with my wife, if she’s able.”

Images flashed through his head. _Is Reek in there_? _Can I talk to Reek_? Theon’s first instinct was to scream, “No! No, I don’t want you using my body.”

His fear must have shown on his face, because Tywin said, “I understand your reservations. As I said, it’s a favor, not an order. I simply…” His face changed almost unperceptively, his eyebrows quirked just ever so slightly, and his eyes became minutely softer. “My wife has been dead for almost thirty years now, and I…I would simply like to speak with her. Nothing more, I promise.”

If a promise from Theon Greyjoy meant nothing, what did a promise from Tywin Lannister mean?

“She’s not happy with you,” he said, trying to get Tywin to change his mind.

“I understand. And yet…”

Theon had to admit he’d never expected to see Tywin display any sort of humanity. The son standing outside the door waiting for him would be shocked. As would the son and daughter he was currently keeping locked away. Theon would see him dead just as soon as he’d see Roose Bolton or Ramsay dead, and yet…

And yet…

“Okay.”

The stiffness went out of Tywin’s frame, perhaps the first time the man had shown any vulnerability in thirty years. “Thank you,” he said with the same even tone he usually used. “I promise no harm will come to your body.”

Theon simply nodded in acknowledgement, then closed his eyes and let his head loll onto his chest. He quieted every thought from within so that the voices could come flooding in. It was painful. It was always painful. But he gritted his teeth against it and forced himself to listen for Tywin’s wife, Joanna was her name. He found her easily. She clung to Tywin with sadness and bitterness.

He allowed her to come into his body, and then he was floating out, held by a tether in a void of nothingness. The quiet and peace of it all was overwhelming. He relaxed into it.

“You?”

There was a voice.

“You’re _here_?”

He knew that voice.

“What are you doing here, Theon Greyjoy?”

“Mar…gaery…Tyrell,” he said, remembering her name with some difficulty. He was impressed that she had remembered his. “Are you there?”

“I am. And I can see and hear you very clearly. You must be very near.”

“You’re here? In this facility?”

“I’m underground somewhere, but I don’t know where exactly.”

Theon would have been hyperventilating if he were in his body. “Margaery, we’re going to break you out.”

“You are?”

“You and anyone else they have there with you. Is Cersei there?”

“Cersei? Lannister?” The disgust in her not-voice was palpable. “She’s here, but they keep her pretty subdued most of the time. They had to install an inhibitor in her after the incident a few months back.”

“Good. Who else?”

“Uh…Firestarter is here. I don’t know her real name.”

“What does she do?”

“Uh…starts fires.”

He couldn’t blame the _duh_ quality in her voice.

“Both weapon-class psychics,” he prodded, not really a question.

“Yeah.”

“Perfect. I’ve brought help. We’re getting out of here.”

“How?”

“Can you pass information along to the others?”

“They keep us isolated from each other, and you’re the only one I’ve ever been able to contact while projecting.”

Projecting, that was her power. Astral projecting. Strictly espionage-class, but useful nonetheless.

“In that case, you just need to be ready for when things start to go down.”

He could practically hear the mischievous grin when she spoke next. “I like the way you think, Theon Greyjoy.”


	26. There: Reins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone who expressed concern. There was a big storm here yesterday. Power went off for just a few minutes, but mostly everything is fine. Except the wind took the gutter off the side of my house. ಠ_ಠ
> 
> For this chapter, Ramsay is his own warning.

Jon didn’t know how long he’d been out, but it felt like weeks. Bright lights flashed whenever he managed to open his eyes even a crack. His mouth was dry and cottony. Every limb hurt, and when he tried to move, he found he was strapped down.

For the next hour, he drifted in and out of consciousness. When he finally woke up for good, he was in a hospital room, or what looked like one. He could feel the stiff, sticky pads of electrodes on his chest and temples. For one irrational moment, he panicked to think they had shaved his head to perform brain surgery, but when he craned his neck, strands of hair fell over his forehead and into his eyes. Of all the things to panic over. Robb had always said Jon’s hair was his one true vanity and one true love.

There were far more important things to worry about for now. For instance, Sam, Gilly, and Theon were safe. On the other hand, Theon had said they were heading down to King’s Landing to confront General Lannister. Which was insane. Jon had to admit that he was eager to be rescued from this situation, but not at the cost of putting his friends in danger.

So odd. Just a few days ago, he’d been convinced he was alone, that nobody would care if he dropped off the face of the planet. And now people—more than one!—were risking their own lives for his sake. He felt guilty about underestimating Sam’s loyalty. Who knew the timid guy had it in him? He’d also underestimated Gilly’s toughness, since she always seemed so haunted by her past. And he’d underestimated Theon’s…well, everything. Bravery. Resourcefulness. Resilience. Jon vowed that if he ever saw any of them again, he would give them the respect they all deserved.

The door to his room opened. Jon could just lift his head enough to see Roose Bolton. The temperature in the room dropped by at least ten degrees. As he came closer, Jon struggled against his bonds, even though both he and Roose knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“Enough of that,” Roose stated. He pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. “I thought we might talk.”

Jon turned his head away. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“You have no questions?”

“None.”

“Not even about Robb Stark?”

Jon gritted his teeth and turned back to look at Roose, focusing as much hate into his stare as he could. “You killed him.”

“I had him killed,” Roose corrected.

“Why?”

“You know why. He was snooping around. He knew too much.”

“He was going to expose you. Expose all of this.” Jon nodded his head to indicate everything around them—the bed with straps, the hospital machinery, the concrete walls keeping it all hidden away. “You may have gotten away with this for now, but I’m a cop, not a prison row inmate. Somebody’s going to miss me.”

“An ex-cop, actually. I read your file. In fact, you had a mental health screening three months ago. The psychiatrist concluded that you were suffering from depression and anxiety. Perhaps there’s even a mention in there of your suicidal tendencies.”

“Is that how you make all your other ‘subjects’ disappear?” Jon shot back, not flinching. “Is that what you told Theon’s sister to keep her from asking questions about him? That he killed himself?”

“You mean Ghost?”

“I mean _Theon_.”

“Well, perhaps it is fortuitous that he escaped. Otherwise we would never have found you. And we will retrieve him shortly. There are precious few places he can hide from us. For now, though…” Roose steepled his fingers together. “I’m curious to know more about this natural talent of yours. When did you first realize you had these abilities?”

Jon shook his head. “I’m not talking to you.”

“You’re being difficult. I suppose that’s to be expected.” Roose leaned back in his chair. “Your file mentioned you grew up with your aunt, uncle, and five cousins. I wonder if this psychic trait is genetic.”

Jon’s heart seized. He tried not to show just how much Roose’s veiled threat had rattled him, though. “What do you hope to gain from all this?” he asked.

“‘For what does a man profit, if he gains the whole world and loses his soul?’” Roose stood, pushing the chair back gently. “Yes, I have read the _Seven-Pointed Star_ , Mr. Snow. You are not the first man to appeal to my conscience, nor will you be the last. Let’s leave matters of men’s souls to our friend Ghost. For now…” He began towards the door, no real hurry in his movements. “If you don’t feel like talking, there are other ways of gathering information.”

He gave a soft knock on the door and a man dressed in a gray prison guard’s uniform entered. He was tall and wide, the sort of person who could legitimately say he was “big-boned.” He had long dark hair that couldn’t possibly be regulation appropriate. Jon knew who he was the minute their eyes met. The same pale, pale blue as Roose’s. This was his son, Ramsay.

“Ramsay,” Roose said, “would you escort our new subject to the lab?”

“Of course.”

Join recoiled as Ramsay stalked forward. “Don’t touch me.”

Ramsay smacked him hard across the face, hard enough to stun him.

“Easy, Ramsay,” Roose’s disapproving voice said. “What have I told you about your enthusiasm?”

“You know,” Ramsay grumbled as he began pulling off electrodes and undoing straps, “ _some_ people appreciate my ‘enthusiasm.’”

Jon waited until his was untied, pretending to be too dazed from the smack to fight back. When Ramsay undid the last strap holding his ankle, Jon kicked out, hitting Ramsay right in the face. Ramsay recoiled. That was his opportunity.

He leapt off the bed and ran for the door, ready to tackle Roose. Roose, however, stepped out of the way and allowed Jon access to the hall.

“If you bring him back promptly,” Roose’s soft voice followed after Jon, “I will allow you to demonstrate any sort of ‘enthusiasm’ you want with our new subject.”

Jon ignored the chills in his spine and ran. The complex was as Theon had described it: a maze. This hallway led into another, which branched off in two directions, and when Jon took the right, he found he had looped back on himself. A loud alarm filled the tiny, closed-in space, breaking through his thoughts and making it nearly impossible to think. He tried to remain calm, just like they’d taught him at the police academy.

The problem was that he had no idea where he was supposed to go. He’d been hooded coming in, so there was no hope of retracing his steps. He supposed his best bet was to find the emergency escape Theon had told him about, except he wasn’t really aware of where _that_ was either. The only thing to do was run, stay ahead of the footsteps running after him.

He rounded a corner and found himself at a dead end. Who built a hall that led to nowhere? There were only bricks and pipes, but nowhere to run or hide. He turned at the sound of Ramsay’s approaching footsteps, slower now that he knew his prey was cornered.

“Easy now, doggy,” Ramsay said, hand held out as if he really were dealing with a spooked dog. “You’ve got nowhere to go. Why don’t you just come back with me, make it easy on yourself?”

Like hell. Jon ran at him, hoping to throw the man off enough that he could get around him. No such luck. Ramsay met him head-on, grabbed both of his wrists, and wrestled him against the wall, where he used his greater weight to pin him. Still, Jon would not go quietly. He struggled and kicked out until Ramsay jammed a knee between his legs.

“Bad doggy.” Ramsay leaned in so they were chest-to-chest. Too close. Way too close. Jon could feel his rancid breath on his face. “The new ones always need a little training.”

Jon felt the fight going out of him, not because he had lost the will but because he knew he’d blown this chance at escaping. He would have to save his energy for the next time.

Still, he shuddered when Ramsay buried his nose in his hair and breathed deeply. “Ah, you have pretty hair. I’d like to add it to my collection.”

 

***

 

_“Ramsay, we need to talk about the new subject.”_

_“He still needs a codename, right? I was thinking something like Doggy.”_

_“Ramsay.”_

_“…”_

_“Qyburn feels you’ve overstepped your boundaries.”_

_“What? You told me I could do anything I w—”_

_“There are limits, Ramsay. We went over this with Ghost, don’t you remember? No blows to the head, neck, or face.”_

_“Pfft. The swelling will go down. His pretty face will be fine.”_

_“He has a concussion. You risk permanent brain damage.”_

_“He’ll heal.”_

_“And the tendons of his left leg? Will those heal as well?”_

_“I was doing you a favor! Now he can’t run.”_

_“He can barely walk.”_

_“That’s the idea, isn’t it? Not like you need his legs to work anyway.”_

_“…”_

_“Yeah, I’ll try to rein it in next time.”_


	27. Here: In the Belly

“As you can see,” Tywin explained, though for whose benefit was unclear, “the subjects we have transported to our permanent facility here in King’s Landing are afforded all of the finest modern amenities.”

Theon had to admit his quarters were fairly impressive—an actual bed, a flat screen TV mounted on the wall in front of an overstuffed armchair, his very own bathroom with a walk-in shower. It would all be reassuring, if he hadn’t spent the last year or so being tortured by these very people.

“I can see that no expense was spared,” Jaime commented dryly.

“The government has put a lot of money into this project,” Tywin said, ignoring his son’s tone. “We are _very_ committed to its success.”

“So, uh…how far up does this thing go?”

Tywin did glare at him at that remark. Theon was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of the man’s withering look. It was hard to imagine this was the man he’d seen with tears in his eyes just moments ago, when he’d come back into his body. He had no way of knowing what words had been exchanged between Tywin and his wife, a fact he was glad of.

“As far as you’re concerned, I am the highest authority. Everyone here answers to me, including you.”

“Yes, sir.” Jaime was getting pretty good at his mock salute. It got a little sloppier each time.

Tywin turned to Theon. “Get yourself situated. The staff will be by later to your orientation.” Then back to Jaime. “As for you…let’s speak some more in my office.”

Jaime shot Theon a thumbs up as he and Tywin left the room. Everything was going…mostly according to plan.

As soon as they were gone, Theon’s first instinct was to try the door, but he was fairly certain he was locked in. Just because they’d given him nice things didn’t mean he wasn’t still a prisoner. He went to sit on the bed, a twin-sized mattress that was nonetheless cushy and more comfortable than anything he’d slept on at Bolton Penitentiary. They’d given him four pillows of varying softness, a flannel comforter, and even a quilted blanket folded neatly at the end of the bed. He lay down. There wouldn’t be much for him to do until Jaime’s signal.

Theon wasn’t wearing a bug for fear that he’d be searched, but Jaime had one in his ear, no bigger and no more noticeable than a hearing aid. It was a delicate piece of technology, “borrowed” from the MTPD station under Sam’s “supervision.” Through it, Jaime was feeding Sam all sorts of information. Theon didn’t understand it all, but the general gist was that Jaime was finding the information that would allow Sam to shut down the facility’s systems from the outside. And when that happened…

How long would it take Jaime to get what he needed?

Back at the penitentiary, this had often been the worst part: the waiting. Waiting for the next medical procedure. Waiting for the next experiment. Waiting for the next dead person to fill his head with words he didn’t want. Waiting for Ramsay.

He shuddered. He would not have had the courage to go through with this if Jaime had decided to go to the penitentiary first. He hadn’t seen Ramsay since...since their good-bye encounter, which Ramsay had insisted was not really a good-bye encounter at all. He must have been furious when his henchman came back empty-handed.

Up until the moment the armored truck had been driven off the road, Theon—no, Ghost at the time—had been convinced he would go without a fight. But then the truck was rolling over on its side and the lights went out and he’d been left in a cramped, dark space all-to-similar to a coffin. He’d had a lingering hope the crash would kill him, but now, in his little coffin, he panicked. Would this be where his body would rest for all eternity? In this unmarked grave? Or would they mark it? A tombstone with someone else’s name on it? Something like: _Here lies_ _Ghost or Reek. We’re not sure_.

_They can’t take our names away from us_ , Margaery Tyrell had said.

When the armored truck’s doors opened, Theon had run. Ramsay’s lackey had not been expecting it. Theon slid out of his attempted grasp and continued to half-run, half-slide down the grassy hill to the town below. No idea of where he was going or what he would do when he got there, just the idea that he would not go back to being anyone’s Ghost or anyone’s Reek.

And yet, here he was now. Ghost again.

_For Jon’s sake_ , he reminded himself. Jon didn’t deserve any of the crap Theon had brought into his life. Which was a weird, because Theon had never been one to stick his neck out for anyone. In his previous life, before Ghost, he’d been a brat, equal parts spoiled and neglected. Fuck, he hadn’t even pulled over when he’d _run down two kids_ with his father’s car. That night had been a culmination of wasted lives: two young children and one self-destructive teen.

The voices were beginning to grow louder now. Theon tried to block them out. He needed to concentrate for the next phase of the plan.

Theon curled up into a fetal position. The Miller boys were in the room with him, always clinging to him. There was anger, sometimes, in their looks, but mostly it was just…confusion. They didn’t understand what had happened to them, and they didn’t understand why Theon had taken their lives. They understood vaguely that Theon felt terrible sorrow for what he’d done, but they didn’t understand how that was supposed to be any kind of explanation.

The lights went out with the sound of dying circuits. It brought Theon out of his thoughts. How long had he been drifting off? He got off the bed and fumbled his way through the pitch black over to the door by pressing himself flat against the nearest wall and searching the perimeter. Unlike the doors at the Bolton prison complex, all the rooms here had keycard sensors run on a computer system. When Theon tried the handle, the door was unlocked.

He stepped out into the eerie glow of the backup system, barely enough light for anyone to see by. There were people running and yelling back and forth to each other. No one came for him in all the commotion. It was like he truly was a ghost, able to move unseen amidst the panic. He knew exactly where he needed to go. Margaery Tyrell had given him very specific directions.

Follow the yellow stripe on the floor around the corner, third door down on the right. That’s where he’d find their secret weapon. The door was unlocked but unopened. Theon opened it, allowing the red light to spill in from the outside. Something snarled at him.

“I’m here to get you out,” he stated.

The snarling continued.

“I can’t see you. Come into the light and I’ll get that straightjacket off.”

The snarling continued, but the noise of soft-soled shoes padding towards him told him she understood. Not necessarily that she trusted him, but she understood.

It was hard to make her out in the dim light. She looked a little different than the woman in the videos, thinner and with slightly longer hair in a tangled mess. She was dressed in a straightjacket, just like Margaery said she’d be, and while there was a touch of madness to her snarling, her eyes were cold and calculating. Cersei Lannister’s mind was still very much at work.

Theon inched closer. She jerked away when he moved too quickly to undo the straps.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I know.”

That was all he needed to say. Her snarling ceased and she didn’t so much as bat an eye as he worked to get her loose.

Finally, the last buckle was undone, and she wrenched her arms apart, flailing to get the straightjacket off. Theon helped her. The moment her hands were free, she wrapped them around the base of her skull and tore something free. The inhibitor Margaery had mentioned.

Instantly, chaos broke out. The TV fell from its mount. The bed slammed into the wall. The door flew off its hinges, and Cersei Lannister stalked out, deadly intent on her face. Theon followed her.

“Your brother’s here,” he said.

“I thought so,” she said, her first words to him. “I can’t decide if I want to see him or not.”

“He didn’t know you were here until a few days ago. Your father told him you were dead.”

“I still don’t know if I want to see him.” She brushed her wild hair out of her face. All around them, pipes burst from the walls, spewing water and steam and adding to the general chaos. The concrete under Cersei’s feet cracked. “I’ll decide later.” She walked briskly and with a purpose. “Right now, I want to destroy that gods-damned fucking chair of theirs.”

“Can I watch?” Theon asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Cersei be joining the cast? You'll have to keep reading to find out.


	28. There: The Gods-Damned Fucking Chair

If Jon had to criticize Theon’s account of his time at Bolton Penitentiary, he would say that Theon had dramatically undersold how awful “the chair” was.

They’d waited a day for the concussion to subside, but he was still mostly blind from two black eyes and the ringing hadn’t yet left his ears when they dragged him to one of the isolated rooms branching off from the main hallway. Someone, Jon couldn’t tell who, expressed concern about his brainwave patterns, but someone else dismissed it. “He’ll be fine.”

They had a difficult time strapping him in with his wrist cast and back brace. The chair reclined, much like what you’d see in a dentist’s office, complete with the whirring of machinery he couldn’t see. A sudden flashback to his braces days, when the sadistic orthodontist had “accidentally” broken one of his teeth while removing the brackets. Twelve-year-old Jon had thought there could never be anything more painful than that.

When they turned the chair on, he realized how wrong he’d been.

It sizzled, like bacon on a hot frying pan. Jon could smell his skin and hair burning where the probe touched the nape of his neck. Electricity raced through his body, pulling his muscles tight. It exploded in a crescendo inside his brain, and then he was thrown from the chair.

He was on the floor. Crawling. Scampering. He didn’t like the humans. They were unpredictable and made too much noise. The only reason he came down here anymore was to scavenge for their crumbs. When the human in the chair started screaming, he bolted for the crack in the wall that led back to the sewers. He’d had enough of humans for a while.

Then he was thrown again, and now she was behind bars or a wire fence. She was waiting for Ramsay to take her for her nightly walk around the prison grounds with the other girls. She hoped he’d be in a good mood tonight. He’d been angry and sad these last few days. He missed the man who sometimes smelled like Ramsay’s old mate and sometimes like Ramsay’s new mate. Her master went through a lot of mates, but he was leader of the pack and that was his prerogative. She would kiss his face to try to cheer him up when she saw him next.

Then he was thrown again, and now he was high above the prison, flying on an updraft. Below, the city was alive with light and noise. He circled in and alit on a tree branch in the park. There was a trashcan he favored here, one that was always overflowing with unfinished food and insects. He could feel the chill in the air, the one that told him he must start flying south soon. For now, though, he was hungry, and he could go for a big, fat cockroach.

Jon came back to himself with a violent gasp. It felt like he’d been holding his breath for hours. He wanted to scream, but his throat was too sore and raw. He had already screamed all he was able.

“Heart rate returning to normal,” someone said.

“Good, good.” Footsteps. “And how are you, Mr. Snow? Can you tell me what you saw while you were gone?”

“Get me out of here.” Jon struggled against the straps.

“You’re alright, Mr. Snow. Right now I need you—”

“I’m _not_ alright. Get me out of here.”

“Calm down.” A cold hand was on his forehead. “I’ll unhook you if you agree to cooperate and answer our questions. How does that sound?”

It sounded like he didn’t have an option. He nodded, feeling weak and weak-willed, but he was sure he’d lose his mind if he was forced to sit here a moment longer.

The chair was brought to a sitting position, and one of the guards helped him out. Jon couldn’t stand with the damage that had been done to his legs, so he was eased into the wheelchair they’d wheeled him in on. Jon gripped the armrests, afraid the doctor might change his mind and drag him back out again.

The doctor, however, simply knelt down enough to be on Jon’s level. “Is there anything I can get you before we start, hmm?”

It was all syrupy falseness. The veritable good cop/bad cop routine. The thing about interrogations, Jon had learned while on the force, was that they were designed to break down a suspect’s psyche, turn him into a quivering mess. The way you worded a question, the way you offered either rewards or punishments for answers, the way you drew the process on for days and days—all were meant to break a man. And the worst part was, even knowing what they were doing, Jon had no way of fighting it.

“Water,” he answered at last.

The doctor nodded kindly, and a glass of water was brought for him. It was awful and tasted of copper and chlorine, but it was so soothing on his raw throat that he wasn’t sure he’d ever had anything sweeter. He drank slowly, and when he was done, the doctor took the glass from him, signaling that he’d get no more.

“Now, Mr. Snow,” he began, “why don’t you go over, in as much detail as you can remember, just what you saw and did while you were gone?”

Jon did.


	29. Here: Unhinged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: 
> 
> -Violence  
> -Consensual incestuous relationship

At least two scientists were dead. Theon would feel bad if he weren’t certain they’d been doing the same things to these women that the scientists in the other facility had been doing to him. As it was, he stepped over their mangled bodies and mused that at least their deaths had been quick.

Cersei was tearing everything apart with her mind. And she was strong. She crumpled this facility’s version of the chair into a tiny tennis-ball-sized pile of rubbish. Then she fried all the computer consoles and tore the hinges off of any doors she could find.

They had worked their way through at least three control rooms when a voice said, “Cersei, stop.”

It was Jaime, leading two women with him. One was short and mousy, but pretty in an almost elf-like way. The other was tall, with long red hair and fire radiating from her skin. She had to be Firestarter, Theon supposed, which meant the shorter woman was Wayfarer, Margaery Tyrell. She seemed to recognize him too, because her eyes went wide.

“Cersei,” Jaim went on when Cersei did not stop her rampage, “you need to stop this. We need to get out of here before they get things back online.”

Cersei spun on him. Perhaps she was still wondering whether she wanted to speak with him or not. A moment of tense silence followed. Theon wondered what they’d do if she turned on them.

Finally, she ran at him, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him. On the mouth. Jaime kissed back, and they proceeded to play a round of tonsil tennis right there in front of everyone. That was…uncomfortable. They were supposed to be twins, right? Well, whatever. After everything else, Theon could take that in stride as well.

“He told me you were dead,” Jaime panted as he came up for air.

“Where is he?” Cersei’s voice was cold. “Where’s Father?”

“That’s not important. We’ll deal with him later. Right now—”

“Where. Is. Father?”

Jaime sighed. “He ran. As soon as the systems went down.”

“Coward,” she muttered.

“I’d say smart, more like. He was quick to cotton onto what was happening, and he probably knew the safest place to be when _you_ broke loose would be away from here.” He kissed her on the forehead and drew her into his arms. “We’ll worry about him later. Right now we need to get out of here.”

She breathed out in aggravation.

“I know the way,” Margaery piped up. Her physical voice was sweet and high-pitched. “I’ve had plenty of time to get to know the layout while I was out of my body.”

Jaime gestured for her to lead the way.

They ran through halls, Firestarter igniting anyone unlucky enough to be caught in their path and Cersei blasting open doors that stood in their way. Margaery led up front. Guards tried to stop them once, but Cersei tore their guns from their grips and Firestarter had them writhing on the ground as they burned to cinders. Their screams died away as their bodies began to curl in on themselves, leaving the smell of burning flesh and hair behind.

Theon stopped himself from vomiting by imaging each one of them with Ramsay’s face. True, none of them _were_ Ramsay and none of them had ever personally hurt him—maybe never even personally hurt anyone here—but he couldn’t stop to think of the senselessness of their deaths now.

After what felt like an eternity, they reached a pair of double-hulled blast doors that looked vaguely familiar to Theon. They had probably passed this way coming in. Cersei couldn’t get them to open, and it seemed she was coming to the limits of her stamina. Luckily, Jaime was able to enter the proper code and unlock the doors.

The band of psychics ran for the steps leading up towards freedom. Cersei lifted herself into the air, bypassing the stairs entirely and leaving the rest behind. Even Jaime. When they reached the top, she was nowhere in sight.

Brienne honked the horn from their getaway vehicle, parked just outside the gate. The electric fence had gone down with the rest of the system, and Brienne had taken the opportunity to take wire cutters to the chain links. One by one, they slipped through the hole in the fence and piled into the truck, Jaime reluctantly so. “Did you see my sister come out this way?” he asked, gripping Brienne’s headrest and leaning over eagerly.

“She took off like a rocket.” Brienne threw the truck into reverse and peeled away from the facility. “There was nothing I could do to stop her.”

“Damn,” Jaime cursed.

“Fuck,” Theon muttered. There went their best chance of freeing Jon.

 

***

 

“Thank you.” Margaery wrapped the blanket Brienne had given her over her jumpsuit uniform. She shivered in the not-quite-chill wind. “Thank you so much for…” She turned and wiped tears from her eyes. “I really thought…”

“It’s alright,” Theon said half-heartedly. He sat slouched on a park bench overlooking Blackwater Bay, just outside King’s Landing. He saw where the name came from, as the water was dark as oil in the early evening light.

Margaery smiled through a sniffle. “And you’re Theon Greyjoy? I’m not wrong in thinking that?”

He nodded.

“That was very brave of you, what you did.”

He shrugged.

“No, I’m serious. You didn’t tell me you _came back_ for us. If I had escaped _once_ …”

“Not bravery,” he argued, trying not to snap. He wasn’t angry at her; he was angry at himself. “I’m trying to make up for something I did.”

She nodded like she understood.

Firestarter hadn’t said anything since they’d escaped, but Theon had been studying her from the corner of his eye. She looked vaguely familiar as well. It was Brienne, sitting across from her at the picnic table, who finally spoke up. “You’re that lady…President Baratheon’s mistress, right?”

“ _Rumored_ mistress,” Jaime corrected. “Melisandre Asshai.” He had been sullenly silent all the way to the rendezvous point. “Although there must have been some truth to it if they wanted you to disappear so badly.”

Firestarter, Melisandre, smiled thinly. “It was not Stannis Baratheon who sent me away, but rather those who did not like what I was whispering into his ear.”

“And what were you whispering into his ear?” Jaime asked.

“Things that General Lannister would rather he not hear.” Her smile grew wider, more knowing.

“So, Stannis isn’t aware of what’s going on?” Brienne said. It was odd to hear someone refer to the President by his first name. “We should go to him, then.”

“Oh, is that all?” Jaime asked cuttingly. “We just waltz right up to the President and tell him what his most trusted general has been up to under his nose?”

“He will believe me,” Melisandre said. “I was a trusted advisor, and I alone can prove these claims.” She summoned a ball of fire in the palm of her hand. It illuminated her face and the fiery red of her hair.

She had a tangible power, unlike anyone else here. The less dead people Theon had to talk to to convince anyone, the better. Perhaps he’d already done his share to help Jon by starting to unravel the threads holding this thing together. It didn’t feel like nearly enough, though.

Before he could think too much, Sam and Gilly drove up in their beat-up car. Ghost bounded out when the back door was opened for him, romping up to Theon with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. It seemed uncharacteristic of him.

“Jon?”

The eyes didn’t look right, though. It was just Ghost in there for now.

Theon scratched the dog’s ears with a disappointed sigh. He hated to think of Jon in that place, with Roose Bolton and Dr. Qyburn and… His insides clenched in icy fear to remember Ramsay. Would Ramsay be looking to replace his Reek?

“Theon, are you crying?” Gilly came up and took him gently by the shoulders.

“We were going to use Cersei to break Jon out,” he sniveled. God, he was pathetic. “But we lost her and now…”

“Sh.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a traveler’s pack of tissues that she pushed into his hands. He took one out and began to wipe the tears and snot from his face. “I know you’re worried about Jon. We all are. But we’ll think of something.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, coming up behind Gilly, slightly out of breath. “Jon’s tough. He can hold out until we find a way to get to him.”

“He shouldn’t have to. It never should have happened in the first place.”

“No, it shouldn’t have.” Gilly took the seat next to him on the bench. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

“I think what we all need now,” Sam announced shakily, “is a good night’s rest. We can figure out how we’re going to proceed in the morning.”

“No.”

Theon stood, shaking off Gilly’s comforting hand. She meant well, he knew, but he was tired. He was tired of waiting, tired of looking over his shoulder, tired of running from everything—from his literal ghosts, from the people who’d made him this way. He was so tired of being afraid, even as fear churned in his gut and made him want to crawl somewhere to hide forever. But he couldn’t hide. He _literally_ could not hide. They’d find him soon enough, and then he’d be running again. And while he ran, they were doing who-knew-what to Jon.

He checked the time against the setting sun. “Take me to the train station. I’ll take the overnight train back north.”

“The train station?” Sam asked in confusion.

“I can’t ask anyone else to take me, but I need to get back there. It’ll be faster that way.”

“We’re not letting you go anywhere alone,” Gilly said, putting her hands on her hips. “For instance, do you even have a plan?”

“Not really, no,” Theon admitted. “But I figure I’ll resolve the situation one way or another.”


	30. There: A Deal with the Devil

Jon woke up to a hand over his mouth, keeping him from screaming. _Not again_ , he thought. _Haven’t they done enough today_? _Or does it just never stop_?

It was too dark to see, but he could feel warm breathing on his ear. “Shh, Doggy. That’s a good boy.”

Jon physically did not have it in him to fight back, but he tried. Ramsay just laughed.

“No, Doggy, I’m not going to hurt you. Unless you keep squirming like that. Then I might have to. All I want to do is talk.”

Jon let out a muffled protest.

“Look, _I_ know that _you_ know where Ghost is. My father knows better than to ask you when he can get his Mockingbird to find him just as easily, but _I_ have a use for you. Tell me where Ghost is and I’ll go pick him up. Tonight. Wherever he is.”

Jon shook his head.

“Don’t be like that. I want to protect Ghost from my father just as much as you do. He’s the only one who can bring my Reek back. So here’s the deal: You tell me where to find Ghost and I’ll protect him from my father. Mockingbird will suffer a fatal accident and no one will be able to find Ghost where I’ve hidden him.”

The hand was gone from Jon’s mouth. He was tempted to call out for help, but he doubted anyone would come.

“I know what your idea of ‘protecting’ is.” Jon spat but was unsure if he had hit Ramsay or not. The other didn’t make any noise of disgust. “You don’t want to help me or Theon. You just want your toy back.” He shook his head again. “Theon isn’t your toy. He doesn’t belong to you or your father or me. And I won’t be your toy either.”

Ramsay chuckled darkly. “Someone’s going to find him, one way or another. There’s not much you can do about that. So you’re going to have to choose who gets to own Ghost—me or my father. If you do nothing, my father will find him, bring him back here, and continue to treat him as an object with no feelings. You’ve already experienced a tiny portion of what that’s like. Is that really the life you want for…ahem, Theon? Or you could tell me where to find him first, and I will keep him safe. I will treat him well, make sure he’s cared for. I will love him.”

“You’ll rape him,” Jon said with all the disgust he felt. “You’ll torture him. You’ll force him to be your Reek. That’s all you care about.”

“But I won’t _hurt_ him.” Ramsay ran thick fingers along the swelling of Jon’s eye. “Not like this. Not like my father will.”

“You want me to choose _which_ of you is going to torture him?”

“A shitty choice is better than no choice.” Ramsay patted his face just hard enough to make him wince through his bruising. “So, maybe try to show a little gratitude, hmm?”

“Or maybe there’s a third option.” Jon smiled, hoping Ramsay could see it in the dark. “Maybe Theon succeeds in evading both you and your father. Maybe you spend the rest of your lives looking for him, always one step behind. Maybe he makes fools out of all of you, and you never see your precious _Reek_ again.”

He felt more than saw Ramsay raise his hand to hit him. Jon braced for the blow, but before it came, the blaring of the alarm stopped him. The room was bathed in the eerie red glow of the emergency lights, and Jon could just make out Ramsay’s face, hateful and angry and filled with the desire to hurt him.

He lowered his arm with a disgusted snort. “I need to report in, otherwise I’d stay and let you know just how generous I’m being. But…” He spread his arms wide and took several backwards steps towards the door. “My offer is always open, up until the moment my father gets his hands on Ghost. Then I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. Maybe the two of you can keep each other company while you rot away inside these walls together?”

He turned and walked from the room.

 

***

 

It had not been a good day for Ramsay Snow. It had not been a good week. He’d gone through all that trouble to set up Ghost’s escape, and instead of showing gratitude, Ghost had run, taking Reek with him. His father had found a pretty new plaything, and Ramsay had to admit he might have taken out his frustrations on Doggy and gone a bit too far. And now, icing on the cake, Roose had called an emergency staff meeting to say the whole project might get scrapped. Apparently there had been a security breach at the facility in King’s Landing, and Tywin Lannister wanted to cover his back by destroying all projects currently in production.

Ramsay gripped Kyra’s leash tighter. He wouldn’t allow them to destroy Reek. He wouldn’t allow anyone to keep them apart again. He’d find a way to make Doggy talk.

Kyra sniffed around for just the right bush to relieve herself on. Suddenly, her head shot up, as if she had sensed a rabbit. Immediately, she began pulling at her leash, barking her head off. Ramsay let go of her leash. It would be good for her to work some of her energy off, especially since he had been ignoring her this last week. She might even catch the rabbit and tear it into bloody chunks. That was what she really needed. She needed one of the prisoners to attempt an escape so she could take them down. It was what she was built for, after all, and she loved to chase after things that ran.

She bounded into the shadows, and a moment later, Ramsay heard her smacking up against the chain link fence, still barking like mad. It seemed the rabbit had gotten away. Too bad.

He went to go fetch her and was startled to find Kyra sitting on the ground, wagging her tail and staring up adoringly at the figure on the other side of the fence. Ramsay turned his flashlight on the person. Ghost threw up a hand to block the light from his eyes.

“Ghost?” Ramsay took a step forward. “Reek?”

“Ghost,” Ghost corrected. The white glow of the flashlight made him look as pale as his namesake.

“You came back to me.” Ramsay took another step forward and reached through the links in the fence.

Ghost took a step back, just out of arm’s reach. “I’m tired of running, Ramsay. I’d rather just end this thing, if it’s alright with you.”

“Of course it’s alright with me.” Ramsay so badly wanted to touch him, to feel his face and run his hands through Ghost’s hair. What was that color? It didn’t suit him at all. Ghost needed his white hair back. “I’ll come out there and get you.”

“No, I’ll come to you.” Ghost was trembling. He was so frightened, so lost without Ramsay. “But I want you to promise me something.”

Ramsay chuckled. “What can I promise you, pet?”

“I want you to get Jon out of there.”

Ramsay knew who he meant. The name felt nasty to his ears. That was why Ghost had come back? For Doggy? Was he truly such a slut that he’d managed to forget everything Ramsay had done for him because he’d found a pretty face?

“I’m not sure I can,” he finally answered.

“Yes you can. I know you can.”

The little shit! Getting impudent with him.

“I know you can,” Ghost continued, “because I can do something for you in return.”

Oh, yes, he certainly could.

“I can bring Reek back. Permanently.”

That caught Ramsay off guard. “Permanently?”

“I’ll let him have my body.” Ghost spread his arms out in supplication. “He and you can do whatever you want to it. I’ll leave.”

“Can you do that?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never tried it before, obviously, but I think I can. Anyway, I’d rather be functionally dead than be around for whatever you have planned. I’ll do this thing for you, you can have Reek back for good, but you’ve got to help Jon escape. Those are my terms.”

Ramsay considered. Or pretended to consider. “Okay,” he said at last. “I’ll meet you by the gate. My truck’s the one with the headlight out. I’ll have Doggy—er, Jon—with me then. If you try to run again, I’ll kill him.”

Ghost nodded. He knew better than to call Ramsay’s bluff.

Ramsay grabbed Kyra’s leash and began leading her back towards the compound. She kept looking back at Ghost, the haunted little slip of a man standing on the other side of the fence. Ramsay whistled a jaunty tune to himself, thinking that today had turned out to be a rather good day after all.


	31. There: A Deal in the Dark

Jon had no idea what was going on. He woke up to the rude sensation of Ramsay jamming something into his mouth. Fearing the worst, he panicked and bit down, only to find the thing was a bit gag. Ramsay began undoing the bed straps, and Jon fought back like a cornered wolf. Ramsay snorted in disgust and dragged him from the bed with ease. He had no trouble wrangling Jon into the wheelchair and tying his wrists to the armrests with zip ties.

He didn’t like the way Ramsay remained silent as he wheeled him out into the hall, but with the gag in Jon’s mouth, he couldn’t very well demand answers. Instead, his feverish mind had to supply those. Maybe Ramsay was so desperate to get his hands on Theon that he was going to torture the information out of him?

They turned down another hallway and a fellow guard waved to Ramsay. “Where’re you taking him?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Ramsay grunted. “Word just came in from Tywin Lannister. We’re destroying all the subjects.”

“Destroying?”

“Medical waste term. Basically we’re incinerating them when we’re done. No evidence left.”

The other guard’s face paled. “Really? Seems like such a damn waste.”

“You’re telling me.” Ramsay shrugged and pushed past the guard. “Orders are orders, though. I just got done with Mockingbird.” He clucked his tongue, as if at the shame of it all.

Jon tried to get some form of protest out through the gag. He wasn’t going to take this sitting down, literally. Ramsay cuffed him on the ear. The motion jarred his brain and blurred his vision. He must be hallucinating, because at the end of the hall was a door marked “Emergency Exit.” Ramsay put the brakes on the wheelchair and began sorting through the keychain on his belt. That was how Jon knew this was a figment of his deranged, hopeful imagination. Who kept an emergency exit locked?

Ramsay found what he was looking for and unlocked the heavy padlock around the door’s bar handle. It clicked. Ramsay took hold of the wheelchair’s handles and backed out through the door, trailing Jon behind him. The cool night air hit Jon’s face, and the harsh glow of a single security light bathed the area.

Somewhere, a dog barked. A car door opened, and then Jon was being lifted, wheelchair and all, into the back of a truck. The dog stopped barking and began to lick his face. Jon was startled by the suddenness of it all. Was this all a hallucination too? Or did Ramsay have something in mind?

The entire truck shook as the engine started up. Jon could hear the beeping from the dashboard, the one you often heard in older cars when you didn’t buckle your seatbelt right away. Ramsay, it seemed, was feeling particularly sadistic, because he allowed the beeping to continue as he threw the truck into gear and started down the hill. Jon felt the throbbing of his head sync up with the sound, so that the entire world was one pulsating, noxious noise.

They drove for less than five minutes before stopping abruptly. Jon couldn’t imagine where they were going or why Ramsay was taking him there. If he was to be “destroyed,” surely he didn’t need to leave the building for that. No, it was becoming apparent that had been a ruse. To what end, though? Jon wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, but he got it all the same when the back of the truck was opened and his wheelchair was hauled out.

He was dumped on the ground, and a moment later, hands that were too small and too gentle to be Ramsay’s were on his face, releasing the gag. “What did you do to him?” Theon. That was Theon’s voice. Why? How?

“I got a bit carried away,” Ramsay’s voice answered.

“He won’t be able to walk.”

“Not for a while. I have a cellphone. He can call for someone to come pick him up after we’ve left.”

After they’d left? Where were they going?

“You can’t just leave him out here.”

“No one will be looking for him. Or if they do, they won’t find him. I took the liberty of taking care of Mockingbird for you. My father will be deaf and blind as to where all his AWOL psychics are.” Another car door opened. “You can thank me later.”

Theon sighed and ran his hands through Jon’s hair. He was right; that did feel good, especially on a pounding head. “Okay, Jon, I’m going to cut you free now, but you have to give us a ten-minute head start before you call anyone. Got it?”

Jon shook his head. No, he didn’t get it. He didn’t understand what was going on.

Theon leaned down so that Jon could see him. He felt like crying to see a friendly face. His hands trembled to feel that face, to make sure this wasn’t all just some concussed dream. Theon kept sliding his hands through his hair in the sweetest way, and he whispered softly, “Look, all you need to do is call Sam. I told him I’d negotiate your release. Problem is, he thinks he’s supposed to ride in here, guns a-blazing, and rescue the both of us. That’s why I need you to give me and Ramsay a ten-minute head start. Understand?”

_Me and Ramsay_? “You’re not…going with him? Are you?”

Theon’s face grew sad. Jon never wanted to see that look on Theon’s face again. He promised himself he would do a better job of protecting Theon from now on, if only Theon didn’t get in the truck with Ramsay.

“Ghost, I’m waiting. Do I need to come get you?”

“Please,” Theon said, “give me a moment. I want to make sure he’ll be okay.”

“He’ll be okay.”

Theon yelped as Ramsay grabbed his arm and yanked him off of Jon.

“You’ll pull through, won’t you, Doggy?” He pushed Theon back towards the truck, then dug around in his pants pocket. “Here’s your knife.” He set a switchblade on Jon’s lap. “And here’s your phone.” He set an old flip-phone next to the switchblade. “You’ll figure it out.”

He turned back to the truck, giving Theon a rough shove on the back to get him into the passenger’s side. Theon went in without any fight.

Jon struggled to reach for the switchblade. If he could cut himself free, he might be able to stab Ramsay’s eyes out. It was difficult with his wrists tied to the armrests, and he ended up bouncing his knee to bring the blade closer to his awkward grasp.

The passenger door slammed, and Theon sat looking out the window at him. Jon didn’t want to tear his eyes away, but he needed to focus on the knife. His fingers brushed the polished handle. Almost there.

The driver’s side door opened, followed by the squeaking of the truck’s shock absorbers and Ramsay climbed in. The engine revved up and Jon redoubled his efforts for the knife. He had it just between his forefinger and thumb when the truck’s tires spun in the dirt, laying rubber as it peeled out of there.

“Fuck!” Jon tried one last time for the knife, knowing it was useless, and nearly dropped it from his nerveless fingers.

The truck raised dirt in its wake. Jon could smell the overheated engine, the grit and rust from the truck bed. He could hear the engine getting farther away. What he could not do was see through his swollen eyes. He couldn’t see the look on Theon’s face through the window, only the faint beam from a single headlight as it disappeared into the darkness.


	32. There: Inside and Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A definite shortcoming of the point of view in this story is that we're limited to Theon and Jon, meaning we don't get to actually see all the shit that's going down in King's Landing. I tried to give a bit of an idea though.

Jon didn’t remember much after he managed to cut himself free and dial Sam’s number. He was vaguely aware of headlights coming towards him out of the darkness. Two, so it couldn’t be Ramsay’s truck. He remembered being lifted up by someone too strong to be Sam, but he could hear Sam’s voice. He thought Jon should be taken to the hospital; the person carrying Jon disagreed. They continued to disagree as they set Jon in the back seat of their car. Jon tuned them out.

He felt more dead than alive, both inside and out. He felt betrayed by Theon’s decision to run off with Ramsay. How could he just decide something like that on his own? Especially when Jon had been fighting so hard to keep him out of Ramsay and Roose’s hands again. It was Ygritte all over again, making her own choice without consulting anyone. It wasn’t fair. It was selfish.

What was Ramsay doing to him now? No, if he let himself think about it, he really was going to go mad. He tried to block it out, but there was no comfort to be had. He tried to focus on the feel of the rough material of the seat cover, the way it rubbed uncomfortably against his bruised skin. He tried to focus on the bouncing of the car along the dirt road, the way it jarred his broken wrist and sent a comforting, grounding pain through his body.

There was nothing to see but the lights on the dashboard, nothing to hear but Sam arguing with some other voices. Jon closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about Theon. He didn’t want to think about how badly he’d failed.

 

***

 

He woke up to the sound of voices again, clear and steady, rehearsed. The television? Light streamed in through the windows, harsh against his bruised eyes. He moaned and rolled over. He was on a bed, though he didn’t know whose, just that he was right in the middle with no one to either side. No Ygritte. No Theon.

The springs of the mattress groaned as he turned over, and in response there was the scraping of chair legs as someone stood. Jon felt a soft hand on his forehead. “Are you awake?” a voice asked.

Jon didn’t recognize the woman’s voice or what he could see of her face. He tried to wave her off.

She slapped his hand away, just roughly enough to show she meant business. “You look like you’ve been through the ringer,” she said. “Can I get you anything? Water? Pain pills?”

Jon laughed. Never did he imagine he would find himself on the receiving end of those questions so soon after asking them of Theon. “Theon,” he replied. “Where is he?”

The woman furrowed her brow, stood, and left the room, only to return a moment later with Sam and Gilly in tow. “I’m sorry, Jon,” Sam said in his most apologetic voice. “Theon…he told me he was going to use himself as a bargaining chip for your freedom. I didn’t want to let him, but he said he would give us the call before anything went down so we could be there…”

“Where is he?” Jon repeated.

“We don’t know,” Gilly said bluntly. “Ramsay and Theon are just…gone.”

“I’ve been looking for him,” the other woman said. “I can speak with him when the both of us are out of our bodies, but…I haven’t had any luck. It really does seem like he’s just…gone.”

Jon felt tears well up in his eyes.

“But we might find them yet,” Sam interjected. “On the news…” He pointed to the television. It was at an odd angle to the bed, meant more for whoever sat in the armchair. And in any case, it was too far away for Jon to see anything more than the blobs of the national anchorman and -woman. He could hear just fine, though.

“—unsure if the footage has been doctored or not. Many are claiming hoax, while many more are claiming conspiracy. The police are not currently releasing General Lannister’s autopsy, sparking even more suspicion from the public.”

“Thank you, Wyl. We’ll continue to follow this story as it unfolds. I other news, President Baratheon called an emergency press conference this morning—”

“The media’s going nuts,” Sam said, as if Jon hadn’t gathered that already. “Tywin Lannister is dead, unknown cause but most likely homicide. Sometime around three o’clock in the morning, a bunch of black helicopters flew in over Bolton Penitentiary, but we haven’t heard anything else since then. Jaime and Brienne are looking into it.”

“They know all about the situation with Ramsay,” Gilly interrupted. “They’ll put the proper authorities on the case. I’m sure they can track Ramsay down in no time.”

Jon wished he could believe her, but he’d worked on too many missing persons cases during his time as a cop. More often than not, they ended up going cold, even when the federal government was involved.

Suddenly, there were too many people in the room, too much noise. “I want to rest,” Jon announced.

“Oh…okay,” Sam said timidly. “We’ll, uh…keep you posted. It might even be safe to take you to the hospital today.”

Jon didn’t reply. No one else tried to get him to talk.

Someone turned off the television, and all three of his visitors left, closing the door behind them. Sweet silence. And darkness, if he pulled one of the pillows over his head to block out the light. The bed was too soft for his throbbing head, and he still didn’t know whose it was. He supposed it didn’t matter. It wasn’t his bed and it wasn’t Sam’s guest bed. It was just some stranger’s bed, a sort of nowhere.

He lay like that, with the pillow over his head, for about five minutes before he broke into sobs, muffled by the too-soft material. He cried for Robb and Ygritte. He cried for Theon. He cried for himself. He cried for the irreparably fucked-up mess he’d made of his life, all because he’d tried to do the right thing. Robb had tried to do the right thing, and it had gotten him killed. Ygritte had tried to do what she _thought_ was the right thing, and it had gotten her killed. Theon had done what _he_ thought was the right thing too, and it had gotten him back in the hands of a psychopath who meant to use him, literally, in the worst way.

Jon held the pillow tight against his face, wondering if he could smother himself like this. Logically, he knew he probably couldn’t. He’d pass out before that could happen and his body would kick into self-preservation mode. He finally released the pillow and rolled over onto his side.

If he scooted over just enough, he could pretend that someone else was in bed with him. Someone very quiet and unmoving.

 

***

 

Jon woke up on the floor. Something was wrong. There was a familiar noise coming from Ramsay’s room, but not a noise she’d ever heard coming from Ramsay himself. She abandoned her sleeping spot by the heater and went to her master’s side. Last night he’d been so happy. His mate had returned, the old one, and they had spent all night mating loudly in the next room. Jon was used to that. Ramsay often brought mates and prospective mates here, to their little cabin in the woods. It seemed like a test of sorts. If the prospective mate was there in the morning, Ramsay usually kept them around for a while. If not…

She stopped at the doorway, startled to see Ramsay crumpled on the ground, clutching his mate’s body. “Wake up, Reek.” That was the noise she’d never heard him make before. Crying. And the man in his arms didn’t smell like his old mate anymore, but his new one. Along with the bitter tinge of blood in the air. “Reek, I order you to wake up.”

There was blood all over Ramsay’s shirt and hands. Not his, though. She couldn’t smell any wounds on the smaller body, but then she realized it had all come flooding from his nose and ears. Jon came closer and licked her master’s face to comfort him. _I’m sorry your mate is dead. We’ll go find a new one soon._

Ramsay pushed her away. He gathered the body in his arms and stood, dripping blood as he stumbled from the room. “No, you’re not gone, Reek. Ghost. I refuse to let you leave me again.”

Jon followed after Ramsay, but he gave her a kick and slammed the cabin door behind him. She whimpered and went back to her bed by the heater. Some of her body heat still lingered in the dog bed, and she nestled into it to wait until her master got back.

 

***

 

Jon bolted upright in his human bed. “Sam!” he called out. “I know where to find them!”


	33. There

“This is the place?” Sam watched Jon through the rearview mirror. “Are you sure?”

“Sure,” Jon answered, stroking Ghost’s fur. The dog had been antsy the entire drive up into the mountains, but Sam had agreed that with the absence of Jaime and Brienne, an “attack dog” might be good backup.

Sam put the car into park a good fifteen feet from the cabin up ahead. His hands shook as he pulled his gun from its holster. Jon hated to ask this favor of him, but it wasn’t like he could drive. Besides, Sam wouldn’t be in any real danger, since Ramsay wasn’t in the cabin at the moment—not that Jon had told him that. At worst there would be an angry dog for him to contend with, but Sam already knew about that.

“Stay in the car, Jon,” he instructed, opening the car door and stumbling out. “Don’t do anything…stupid.” He gave a sad sigh, took hold of his gun with both hands, and began up the steps of the little cabin.

It took him a good few seconds to gather up the courage to knock on the door, wait for a response—not getting one, obviously—and then try the handle. It was unlocked, since Ramsay wasn’t expecting anyone to find him, and Sam slipped in with all the grace of a bumbling sidekick. Not that Jon could have managed any better at the moment.

He waited for Sam to completely disappear inside before opening the car door and letting Ghost out. It was becoming second nature, being able to put himself into an animal’s mind, especially Ghost’s. Ghost was familiar now and easy to maneuver into the woods.

Jon as Ghost stalked in and out of the trees, following the hunting instinct of his ancestors. He didn’t know Ramsay’s smell, but he knew Theon’s. _Master’s mate. He’s hurt_. There was blood in the air, and Ghost followed it. A deer trail led back behind the cabin, to a woodshed overgrown with ivy and weeds. Someone was sobbing inside.

Ghost nudged the door open with his nose and peered in. The crying man could only be Ramsay. Ghost recognized him vaguely from the lingering smell he’d left on Theon’s body. He was standing over a metal table caked in old and new blood. There were bloody, rusty instruments hung up all along the walls. It smelled like a butcher’s shop in here.

“I don’t give you permission to leave me, Reek,” Ramsay said to the body lying on the table. “I guess Ghost couldn’t handle letting you in permanently. That’s fine. I won’t make him do that anymore. I’ll keep Ghost around and have fun with him while you’re gone. I don’t mind. You don’t have to be with me all the time, but I won’t let you leave me again.”

He ran one hand through Theon’s hair; the other hand held a rusted saw.

“I think…maybe there’s too much pressure on the brain? I’m going to open your skull up and let some of that pressure out. Okay, Reek? Ghost?” Another hiccupping sob escaped him. “I hope you can hear me. I’m going to fix you up, okay?”

He raised the saw.

Ghost lunged through the door and grabbed hold of the arm with the saw. Ramsay let out a muffled yelp of surprise and tried to wrestle his hand free of Ghost’s teeth. Ghost held on. _You hurt my master. I’ll kill you for that alone. But you also hurt my master’s mate, which is also hurting my master, and I’ll kill you for that too._

Ramsay was strong and kicked out at Ghost. Ghost growled through his teeth and bit deeper, until he tasted blood. Ramsay howled and jerked back so hard that he fell over backwards. Ghost landed on top of him and released his hold when Ramsay started swinging out with the saw blade. It struck him on the face. Blood began to spill in his eyes, but he didn’t need them to find Ramsay’s throat.

Ramsay gurgled when Ghost bit down on his jugular. He continued to kick out and flail, even in his dying throes. Ghost held on long after he’d stopped moving.

Jon came back to himself with Sam shaking his shoulder. “Ramsay’s not inside,” Sam said. “In fact, I’d ask if this was the right place if it weren’t for the _hair_ collection I found and…” He took in Jon’s groggy appearance and Ghost’s absence and sighed. “You went looking for him yourself, didn’t you?”

“Hey, I didn’t leave the car.” Jon struggled into a sitting position. “There’s a shed out back. Ramsay’s taken care of, but Theon…” That Jon wasn’t sure of. Ghost had had trouble deciding if the body on the table was still alive under all the blood.

“I’ll…see what I can do.” Sam hurried from the scene. Of course he’d had to pass the same first aid course Jon had taken at the police academy, but that still didn’t instill a strong sense of confidence.

Now back in his human mind, it was clear to Jon that Theon had suffered some sort of aneurysm or stroke, possibly from going too long with someone else’s consciousness in his mind if Ramsay’s incoherent babbling was anything to go by. But in that case, there wasn’t a lot Sam could do on his own. And hardly anything Jon could do.

No, he wouldn’t fall back into self-pity. Not when Theon needed him the most.

He held on and waited for Sam to return.

To his surprise, Sam came tromping out of the woods a scant five minutes later, supporting Theon’s weight as the two of them picked their way along the deer trail. Jon was shocked to see Theon up and about of his own power, especially considering the mess his face and shirt were with all the blood. Sam opened the back door and helped Theon in, then ran around to the driver’s side to start the car up.

Jon flung his arms around Theon’s shoulders. “You’re okay!”

“You really _do_ know nothing.”

Jon froze. When he pulled back, Theon’s eyes were not his own.

“Ygritte?”

“He’s hanging on in here. I took it upon m’self to get him up and moving.”

Jon grasped Theon’s face between his hands. “Is he going to be okay?”

“If he can fight his way back. But that’s not up to me.” Ygritte leaned Theon’s forehead against Jon’s. “I have t’ say, I didn’t understand what you saw in this guy at first. He seemed so weak, so unlike you. But he’s held on this long, so maybe I was wrong.” She put Theon’s hands on Jon’s shoulders. “Do me a favor, would you? If you really care about him, take _care_ of him.”

Jon nodded. “I will. I miss you, Ygritte. I’m sorry for how things turned out.”

“Me too.”

“Is that why you’re still hanging around me?”

She leaned in and brushed Theon’s lips against Jon’s. “Calm down,” she said when he stared at her, aghast, “it’s just a little kiss. Oh, got some blood on you. Sorry.” She ran the pad of Theon’s thumb across Jon’s lips, sweeping up a streak of red. “There. And no, I don’t want you t’ think I’ve been hanging around because I looove you so much.” The cackle that came out of Theon’s mouth was purely Ygritte. “But somebody needed to look out for you. So here’s hoping your new guy pulls through. You need someone on _this_ plane looking out for you too.”


	34. Now: Resolve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter's a little rushed. I've been traveling and haven't had time to edit as thoroughly as I usually do.

Theon tried to close his eyes and ears to them, but he had no eyes or ears to close.

“Why won’t you talk to us?”

They were persistent. They weren’t supposed to have followed him here. This was his refuge, his safe place.

“We just want to know why you did it.”

They weren’t going to leave him alone. Was this hell after all? No, he could still feel the tether holding him to his body like an umbilical cord.

“Why did we have to die?”

He couldn’t ignore them for all eternity. “What do you want me to say?” he finally asked.

“We just want to know why you killed us.” It was the older one whispering in his ear.

The younger one spoke into his other ear, or whatever passed for ears in this place. “Please, mister, just tell us why you killed us.”

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“That’s not an answer,” the older one said.

“Why did we have to die?” the younger one asked.

“You didn’t have to die,” Theon snapped. “You died because we were both at the wrong place at the wrong time. I hit you with my car. I didn’t mean to, but there it is. That’s why you died.”

“Why did you hit us with your car?”

“Because I was drinking.”

“Why were you drinking?”

“Because I wanted to get drunk.”

“Why did you want to get drunk?”

“Because I got in a fight with my father.”

“Why did you—?”

“Because I was always fighting with my father! I was always fighting with everyone. All of my pathetic life I’ve been trying to prove that I’m worthy of someone’s love, that there was even one person out there who didn’t think I was a complete waste of space. I was selfish. I was feeling sorry for myself. I was angry at the world. I hit you with my car. It’s not fair, and if I could take it back, I would. If I could, I’d make it so you—both of you—could live and I would be the one who died. I’m sure you had parents and friends who loved you, but nobody would miss me. That would be the fair way of things. But that’s now how things turned out. Things aren’t fair. Nothing is fair.”

He felt breathless after all of that, even though he wasn’t technically breathing at all.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

There was silence for a long while.

“That’s all we wanted to know,” the oldest said at last.

Theon felt a hand on his face. It was the younger one. “We don’t want you to hurt like this.”

“What…can I do? I mean, I know there’s not much, but—”

“Just tell the truth,” the older one said.

“Tell the truth,” the younger one repeated.

“And live with the truth.”

“Live.”

“Remember who you are and what you did.”

“Remember who you are _not_ and what you did _not_ do.”

“Okay,” Theon agreed. “I will.”

“But first, you need to wake up.”

“Wake up, Theon Greyjoy.”

“Mr. Greyjoy? Can you hear me?”

Someone was prying his eyelid open and flashing a light in his eye.

“Pupillary reflex normal,” a woman’s voice said. “Mr. Greyjoy, please blink if you can hear me.”

Theon blinked.

“He’s regaining consciousness,” the woman said to someone just outside his range of sight. And now he could see her as well. Her hair was done in a neat braid and she had a stethoscope around her neck. A doctor. A white coat.

Theon shoved her away. He wasn’t very strong, but apparently he caught her off-guard because she went reeling backwards. Someone gasped in surprise. Someone else screamed. Theon leapt up and immediately went tumbling to the ground in a mass of wires and IVs. They tugged at his skin, at his scalp, and he clawed to get them off, get them out. God, he wouldn’t do this again. He couldn’t!

Ramsay. Where was Ramsay? Why had he brought him back here?

He heard cackling, and through the haze of his panic, he saw Ramsay standing by the doorway, his head thrown back in laughter. “Oh, Ghost, you always were entertaining, even on your own.”

“Theon!”

Strong hands wrapped around his wrists and held him. He fought until he found himself staring into Jon’s gray eyes, still puffy with bruises. No, that was wrong. Jon wasn’t supposed to be here. Ramsay had promised. He’d _promised_! And why was Jon smiling like that? His nose had been broken, too, and his jaw was swollen, but he was _smiling_.

“It’s okay, Theon,” he was saying now in that level way he had, like he knew everything and would take care of everything. “You’re at a hospital. Ramsay’s dead.”

“No, no he’s not. He’s here. He’s right here!”

“You can see him?” Jon glanced over his shoulder. “Of course you can see him, he’s a ghost now. But he’s dead, Theon. He can’t hurt you anymore. Tywin and Ramsay are _both_ dead. Roose is in custody.”

Ramsay continued to laugh, but he wasn’t…he wasn’t _doing_ anything. Jon wouldn’t lie to him, would he?

“Trust me, I tore that bastard’s throat out with my own teeth. Well, Ghost’s teeth, but same difference.” Jon released his hold on Theon’s wrists. “You’re safe, Theon. These men and women are doctors. Real doctors. I promise you, no one in this room is going to hurt you.”

“We’re not…back at the lab?”

“No, we’re at St. Baelor’s Medical Hospital in King’s Landing. Your sister insisted you get the best care possible.”

“My…sister?”

Jon looked over his shoulder at someone in nurse’s scrubs. “Go get Asha. Tell her Theon’s awake.” A different nurse helped Theon back into the hospital bed. Theon didn’t want to go. He’d had enough of hospital beds and beeping machinery to last a lifetime, even though Jon and the nurses kept telling him he needed medical assistance. They at least took the electrodes and IV out, which was a marked improvement. Jon even managed to talk him into agreeing to a reflex test to make sure everything was working, and Theon sat obediently as one of the nurses tapped here and there with a reflex hammer.

“What happened?” Theon asked. He couldn’t remember a thing after he’d let Reek into his body. He hadn’t expected to wake up again, and certainly not to ever see a friendly face again.

“You’ve been out for a few days,” Jon answered. “A lot’s happened since then.”

It was on all the news stations, he explained. The death of a high-ranking general was not something that could be easily covered up. There was security footage, confirmed to be real, of Cersei lodging several metal rods through his chest, the fatal one straight through his sternum. Without ever lifting a finger. Others had come forward, namely the Prime Minister’s mistress, to corroborate the truth of what was now being called Project Greenseer.

There had been a raid on Bolton Penitentiary in Mole’s Town and King’s Landing Women’s Prison. Several prisoners who had been reported dead were, in fact, alive and being held in unauthorized cells beneath the prison complexes. Some of the less scrupulous media sources printed the names of all prisoners. Theon’s name was among them.

The more Jon explained, the less sense it made.

“How did I end up here?” he asked, gripping Jon’s shoulders. If he kept Jon in front of him like a shield, none of the doctors could reach him.

“Well…I came back for you.”

“Why?” He didn’t mean to make it sound so accusatory. But _he_ was the one who’d come back for Jon. _He_ was the one who was supposed to play the martyr, while Jon was so supposed to go on and live his life, maybe sighing sadly on occasion at remembering Theon’s sacrifice, if it wasn’t too much to ask. It was supposed to be Theon’s one true selfless act, even if it had been equal parts selfless _and_ selfish because he simply hadn’t had the energy to run anymore. Why did Jon have to go and _ruin_ all of that? “You were supposed to leave me.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“ _Why not_?” Jon repeated incredulously. Theon became aware that Jon was gripping him back, like he was trying to anchor him there. As if Theon would just disappear in the blink of an eye.

He started to answer, but Theon couldn’t hear because now Ramsay was right behind him, whispering a different explanation in his ear. How could he have forgotten about Ramsay, even for a few moments? “He finally figured out what I already knew,” he hissed. “You have the power to effectively bring anyone back from the dead. His cousin. His girlfriend. Maybe even his dear old mum and dad. You’re just a husk to him, a vessel to be filled up. He didn’t come back for you. He came back for your abilities.”

“Stop!” Theon lashed out, but of course he didn’t hit Ramsay. Ramsay no longer had a body to hit. Instead, he hit Jon. “Shut up! Shut up! You’re lying!”

“I’m not lying,” Jon said, redoubling his grip on Theon’s shoulders. “I care for you.”

Theon stopped.

Ramsay laughed into his ear.

Theon gripped Jon tighter. “That’s not what he says.”

“What who says? Ramsay?” Jon scoffed. “That bastard’s dead. What does he know?”

Theon sniffled, feeling tears form in his eyes.

“You said yourself that the dead don’t always know what they’re talking about.” Jon let go of one shoulder to put a gentle hand under Theon’s chin and lift his face. “Don’t listen to him. Focus on me. I’m solid and right here, and I came back for you because I care about you.” He leaned in slowly, lips slightly parted. The intent was unmistakable, but he was asking permission.

Theon lunged forward and brought their lips together. Jon tried to kiss him sweetly, but he couldn’t stand that. He needed something forceful and passionate to keep him grounded in the moment, to keep his mind from drifting back to what Ramsay was trying to tell him. He wrapped his arms around Jon’s neck and pulled him in tight.

Jon, finally getting the picture, obliged and deepened the kiss. Their lips moved together, building heat and wetness between them. It was messy and sloppy and everything Theon needed. He didn’t want to come up for air, but Jon finally forced him. When he drew back, Jon’s gray eyes were blown wide, his face and lips pink.

“Easy,” he said when Theon tried to go for another kiss. “Trust me, I want to keep going, but…” He coughed awkwardly and nodded over his shoulder. The nurses were still there, watching in a sort of shocked silence. “I think maybe there’s some more pressing business to take care of.”

He tried to pull away, but Theon clasped his wrist. “I’m only letting them near me with their instruments if you stay with me.”


	35. Later, Somewhere Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting the last chapter later today, so be sure to check in again.

_“We can’t offer this man anything. He’s a monster.”_

_“He was simply following General Lannister’s orders.”_

_“Without question, sir. That’s what worries—”_

_“You worry too much, agent.”_

_“…”_

_“Ah, gentlemen, forgive me. I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”_

_“That’s quite alright, Dr. …Qyburn, was it?”_

_“If my license to practice hasn’t been stripped away.”_

_“Actually, that’s what we’re here to discuss. We represent certain special interests who have noticed your work. We feel it would be a tremendous waste to lose this potentially world-changing study, and so my partner and I are here to see if we might…come to an agreement.”_

_“You were the lead surgeon in charge of Project Greenseer, we’ve been told?”_

_“Lead surgeon and researcher, yes, but also the pioneer behind the augmentation procedure itself. It’s quite simple, in concept, at least. The brain is like a radio, receiving signals from the outside. But in certain individuals, it’s possible to tune the radio into frequencies unseen by normal humans and, in some cases, even send signals out. It’s all very fascinating. I’d be willing to tell you all about it in detail if you’d be willing to return my journals to me.”_

_“We’re willing to do more than that. The notes our clients have gone over so far suggest you were close to reaching Phase II of the project. What would you need to continue your research?”_

_“_ Keeping in mind _that we will have_ willing _participants on hand.”_

_“Unnecessary. What I truly need is to continue observing my old subjects.”_

_“We can’t—”_

_“Surveillance, only, will work at this time. As I’m sure you’ve realized, my former employer kept tight records of every subject to pass through our facility, as well as their families and acquaintances. On more than one occasion, we had to use this information to intercept sensitive data reaching the wrong ears, but all I require is the means to track and observe the augmented individuals recovered from Bolton Penitentiary. As well as the other facilities, if at all possible.”_

_“What will that accomplish?”_

_“A hypothesis I developed, based on a single instance so far, that those whose radios we have tuned to send out signals have been…tuning others’ radios as well. Jump-starting their possibilities to hear other frequencies, as it were. I apologize. My metaphor may have gotten away from me a bit there.”_

_“You’re saying…the psychic abilities you’ve given these people are…contagious?”_

_“Only for those with the right potential, I’d wager. But again, this is all conjecture. But if you allow me to continue my work, I will be able to give you a more concrete answer in, say…a year’s time.”_

_“…”_

_“…”_

_“…”_

_“We’ll speak with our clients on the matter.”_

_“Which would be…who, exactly?”_

_“I’m sorry, we don’t have any business cards for you, Dr. Qyburn. Suffice it to say we represent the firm White & Walker and leave it at that.”_


	36. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VagrantWriter disavows all responsibility for any cavities incurred from reading this chapter. Continue at your own risk.

Jon was dreaming. He was on his dog bed, patiently waiting for his master to get up and feed him, when he heard someone walking up the stairs. He jumped up and ran to the door, just in time to hear the knocking. Jon needed to know someone was here and encroaching on their territory. He began barking to alert everyone.

Jon bolted up in bed at the sound of Ghost’s barking. With a groan, he rolled over. Theon was still soundly asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly, white hair fanned out on the pillow. The very beginnings of dark roots were beginning to show, something Jon chalked up to the inhibitor they’d installed at the base of Theon’s neck—per his own request, of course. Without all the extra pressure on his brain, it seemed his body was slowly returning to normal.

Ghost was still barking, and Jon didn’t want to wake Theon, so he hurried out of bed to hush the dog up. “Hurried” was too strong of a word, of course. He’d graduated from a wheelchair to crutches and now to just a walking cane, but it was still frustrating.

Ghost was at the front door, but he fell quiet when Jon swatted him lightly on the nose. “Be quiet,” he hissed. Ghost whined as the knocking continued but didn’t get any louder than that. Jon patted his head to reinforce the good behavior and then checked the peephole. “Morning, Asha,” he called as he slid the chain back and undid the bolt.

Asha looked a lot like her brother in a lot of ways. The both of them were fairly androgynous, and they both had the same quick, blue/green/grey eyes that seemed to constantly be thinking of something inappropriate to say. Asha never gave warning before she dropped by, and today she had a box tucked under one arm. “I was cleaning out the house and thought I’d bring some of my brother’s shit over.”

“Thanks,” Jon said, because it was better to just accept Asha’s sporadic and often masked gestures of thoughtfulness. He took the box from her. “How’s Alannys doing?”

Asha shrugged. “She’s on a new medication and it’s really messing with her memory. On a good day she’ll remember my name.”

Jon had first met Asha after Project Greenseer had gone public, and he’d quickly learned that he liked her, for her brutal honesty if nothing else. If it weren’t for her and her insistence of treating Theon in the best hospital money could buy—money from her late father’s estate, of course—Theon might very well have not physically recovered as fast as he had. She had also been paying for Jon’s physical therapy, at Theon’s insistence. It seemed she had a soft center under all that hard exterior, especially when it came to her little brother.

“Sorry to hear that.”

Asha waved him off. “She’s doing better. The medicine keeps her mind at ease. She remembers Theon, of course. He was always her baby. Some days she calls me Maron or Rodrik.” She huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Anyway, I was in town and thought I’d swing by.” She looked over his shoulder into the apartment. “How’s everything going with you two?”

“Good,” Jon said. “Good. The civil suit is going forward. The government will probably want to settle.”

“Damn right they’ll settle.” Asha cracked her knuckles threateningly. “If they think commuting my brother’s sentence makes up for the fucked-up shit they did to him…”

“Well, they probably won’t want the embarrassment,” Jon said. And there had been a lot of embarrassment in the weeks following the exposure. The President had disavowed all knowledge of the project, but it turned out there were quite a few people in high places who were in on it. For months, Jon had kept Theon safe from reporters, trying to keep him out of the spotlight. Let others like Melisandre Asshai and Tyrion Lannister speak out.

“So, how’s the _other_ trial coming?” Asha asked. “You know, the one about your cousin?”

“Oh.” Her sudden shift caught him off guard.

They’d found a paper trail when they’d raided Bolton Penitentiary. Robb’s murderer—that is, the man Roose Bolton had hired to murder Robb—was a petty criminal who was known to run with a gang called the Freys. For a full year, Jon had wanted to look into the eyes of the man who’d killed his cousin, but seeing the man they’d brought in, he’d felt completely empty. Probably because he’d already looked the _real_ murderer in the eyes already. Roose Bolton was being held without bail while he awaited his criminal trial.

“It’s…going,” he answered at last.

Asha nodded in understanding. She wasn’t one to push issues. “Listen, I’ve got to go, but could you tell Theon I was here?”

“Of course.”

She smiled slyly at him. Jon had to admit that he might have been interested in her if he hadn’t met her brother first. She was loud and crass and spoke her mind, just like Ygritte had done. Just like Theon tended to do more and more these days. Asha said that was his old self coming back, slowly and in increments. Jon thought it was wonderful; Asha wasn’t so sure.

He waved her goodbye and closed the door. Then, box in hand and cane in the other, he made his way to the kitchen. The box went on the kitchen table while he went to give Ghost his breakfast. Ghost whined the whole time, always impatient for food. The second Jon stepped back, he rushed in to bury his face into his dog dish. Jon winced at the noise of metal scraping across tiles.

He stumbled back to bed. As he set his cane against the wall and sat down on the mattress, Theon groaned and stretched and rolled over. “Morning,” he said, eyes half-lidded and hair tousled from sleep. He pulled the covers back to let Jon in. Jon inched in and Theon cuddled up next to him. It was a good thing Jon had gone to answer the door, because Theon was not fond of sleeping in his pajamas. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Answering the door,” Jon replied, wrapping arms around Theon’s shoulders. “Asha came by to drop some stuff off.”

“I thought as much. I didn’t really think you’d left me.” He nuzzled up under Jon’s chin and planted a kiss in the hollow of his throat. “Anyway, you can make it up to me by staying in bed with me all day.”

“ _All_ day? Should I call Sam and Gilly and tell them we won’t be making for dinner tonight? After all the work they did planning it?”

Theon sighed. “Fine. Stay in bed with me until four o’clock. Then we go to the dinner party. But after, we come home and get right back into bed. Fair?”

Jon kissed the top of his head. “I suppose.”

“How many people are going to be there?” Theon asked, cheek pressed against Jon’s chest. “How dressed up do I have to get?”

“Nothing fancy,” Jon said. Maybe he should have invited Asha? He doubted she’d want to come, no matter how informal it was, though. She and Theon were alike in that respect as well. “You can borrow one of my suits.” Now that he was better able to fit into Jon’s clothes.

There were hollows in his face and body that would likely never fully recover, but he’d gained a lot of his weight and muscle back. In fact, he looked rather dashing in Jon’s clothes, if Jon didn’t say so himself.

“Arya’s going to be there, and Sansa and Margaery. Arya says they hit it off at the hospital and have been dating for a month or two now but want to keep it on the down-low. You know, just in case Mrs. Stark asks or anything. Um…” He scanned his memory for all the names Sam had mentioned. “Brienne will probably be there.”

“And Jaime?”

Jon shrugged, lifting Theon’s body with the rise and fall of his shoulders. “He’s still out there looking for Cersei.”

Theon snorted at that. “It’s been six months, already. Maybe he should take the hint that she doesn’t _want_ to be found. Maybe he should move on to someone else…like his partner.”

“What?” Jon asked in confusion.

“Nothing, never mind.”

“Jaime and…Brienne?” That was a funny thought. “You know, fraternizing on the police force is strictly forbidden, especially with your own partner.”

“Just saying. _He_ needs to move on; _she_ needs to move on. It’s unhealthy to cling to people who hurt you in the past.”

Jon ran his hands through Theon’s hair, feeling the inhibitor at the base of his neck. Ramsay hadn’t made an appearance since he’d had it installed, but that didn’t keep the nightmares at bay. Jon had managed to talk Theon into seeing Satin, his counselor friend, and he seemed to have come a long way. There were still bad days, though. Days where any little thing might set Theon off, either sending him into a blind panic or else causing him to go completely catatonic. Jon had to admit he still jumped when he heard loud noises, especially anything mechanical. It wasn’t damage that could be completely undone, but each day was getting better, made better by being with each other.

Six months in and their relationship was still a series of firsts. First time seeing each other naked, one week in, unavoidable with Jon being practically unable to dress himself with his various casts and braces. First hand job, three weeks in, Theon asking if he could touch and Jon reciprocating. First blowjob, two months in, Theon fine with receiving but still uncomfortable giving—he needed to see Jon’s face during sex, so he knew who he was with. First _time_ , three months in, Theon on top per Jon’s suggestion, to give him more sense of control, and Jon’s literal first time bottoming. First time with Theon on bottom, four months in, fine so long as he could see Jon’s face.

That night, Theon had cried afterwards and Jon had absolutely panicked. _Fuck, fuck, I fucked up_ , he thought as he tried to console his boyfriend. He’d tried so hard to be gentle, but it was his first time topping as well and he’d probably hurt Theon or pushed him into this too quickly or…

“I never thought I’d feel so good during sex again,” Theon had gasped between sobs. “I mean…don’t take this the wrong way, it wasn’t _mind-blowing_ or anything. But it was _good_. Better than good. Better than any meaningless fling I’ve ever had.” He’d pulled Jon close, their legs tangled in their dirty sheets, and kissed him deeply. “God, I think I love you.”

“You think?”

“Okay, I _know_.” Theon leaned his forehead against Jon’s. “I know I love you.”

First time saying “I love you,” also four months in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sap for sappy endings. I even managed to shoehorn in a few of my side OTPs.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read, commented, and/or left a kudos. I had so much fun writing this and hope you enjoyed reading it.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and concrit always welcome.


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